Crashed
by Please submit your
Summary: Edward left, and Bella's life broke as things continued to change around her. When she crashes into the Winchester brothers - literally - will they be able to help her through yet another dramatic change? And will feelings develop along the way? LEMONS
1. Twilight - 1

_**I know it took a while, but remember that Supernatural/Twilight vote I had you guys take? Well, the story is up and running. I'm doing this not only as my personal fetish, but also because I wanted to experiment with telling rather than showing. I know that's a basic concept of writing, but I have a feeling that this story is going to stretch me to my limit. You'll see what I mean soon enough—a hint right now would be that I'm planning for the whole thing to be in Bella's POV.**_

_**Anyway, I hope you like! And yes, this is a BELLA/DEAN story. Not that awesome thief Bela. Twilight Bella. And sex. There will be that.**_

_**ENJOY! :DDDDDD**_

_Prologue:_

I thumped the side of my car angrily, tears still streaming down my face. _This is the wrong time for this to happen!_ I thought angrily, cradling my throbbing hand to my chest. _This is all just so wrong!_

I'd done it again. I'd sworn to myself that I would never, and yet here I was. I'd fallen asleep out here—I'd told the guard to kick me—'to kick the living hell out of me'—but he didn't. He said my reaction was natural and he didn't want to interfere. This was a small town, and he knew little old me wasn't about to pull anything I shouldn't. I'd just curl up and cry, resulting in my being late to school, getting a detention, and being late to work. But no one said anything. Everyone stayed a healthy distance.

I looked around. It was four in the morning, still dark with the creeping winter, and I was soaked and freezing. I didn't have time for this, but I should have expected something like this to happen. It always did.

I chose to avoid a pity-party in that moment, in favor of not catching frostbite, and walked around to the front door. I jumped in and turned the key, deciding that I'd just go with it. No one was ever out this early in the morning, or this late at night—depending. I felt sure that my lack of headlights would be okay for right now. If I got pulled over, I'd simply explain what had happened. I knew everyone at the police station, in light of the recent circumstances, and I felt sure that they'd let me slide. Just so they didn't have to look at me longer than necessary.

A cynical snort found its way out of my throat, and I rolled away through the maze with a soft purr. An ache formed in my chest as I wished for the leather and tobacco smell of my old truck—I'd never realized before how calming that scent would be until it was gone. Now I was stuck with rickety little car that looked like it would fall apart if I blew on it. The only good thing was that it was black—the dents and dirt were less visible this way.

This car just helped to remind me of the recent, terrible changes in my life, and I hated it. It was small and old and ugly, not rustically appealing like my old truck. It was horrible—every time I got into it I felt cramped and claustrophobic. The sad part was that I could hardly blame the car.

The tears didn't seem to have an end as I swerved through the dark streets, still damp with rain and snow. I could hardly keep my tired, achy eyes open, but at least I was confident there was no one in the road. I kept on, pushing the pedal to the floor of the car. The engine growled, and the car shot forward with a jerk. I steadied my hands on the wheel and shook my head, hoping to wake myself up.

It worked for a little while, but as the miles spanned out behind me, I felt my still teary eyes beginning to grow heavy again. I tried to urge myself awake, telling myself that it would only take another half hour or so and then I would be on the far side of Forks. It wasn't much longer.

I began to doze again, but something streaked past my car with extreme speed. I caught just the slightest glimpse of brown in the darkness before it was gone. My heart gave a delayed jump to my throat, and my fingers tightened on the wheel as I swerved to my right, glancing out of my rear-view mirror. I only saw a small shadow jump into the trees for a split second, and then it was gone.

I wondered if I'd even seen it at all. I closed my eyes and rubbed them with one hand, looking up to the mirror again to be sure. Nothing.

_I need sleep. At least, that small bit of sleep I get between the nightmares._

I looked back to the road, and everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. The headlights in front of me were blaring, too close, and I felt my gasp scrape down my constricting throat. My hands flexed on the wheel, but I was too dumbstruck to move. I saw the vague outline of two tall silhouettes, which seemed to jerk suddenly. I heard a strange grinding sound and my stomach began to churn for no apparent reason.

Soon enough, everything was spinning. There was pain lancing up and down my back and limbs, and then there was a shattering. My eyes suddenly flashed white before being stricken with pain. I felt the worst migraine of my life come on before it all seemed to fade away.


	2. Twilight - 2

_**Well I'm back! I've decided to continue with this story ONLY and get it out of the way. My updates will be slow and I'm really rusty as far as writing goes, but I hope you like this. I'm gonna have to reread Twilight and brush up on my Supernatural, but this is what I've managed for you. I hope you like it, even though it's mostly dialogue.**_

_**As I said, this is gonna be a test. The bomb has been dropped. I hope you find this POV interesting, because I'm going to try and stick to it.**_

_**I love you guys. As a quick update to my condition (YOU CAN SKIP THE REST OF THIS): I'm doing better. I've been going to therapy and I can walk again, but not very well or for very long. My arms work fine and I'm able to type still, just slower. I can talk and have no hideous scars other than my back where I had some glass shards.**_

_**I find it funny that I've chosen this story above the others. Yet writing this, and thinking it through, made me glad that this did not happen to me (though it did happen to my mother) and has been strangely therapeutic. Hope you guys enjoy my short chapter.**_

_**Still on the meds. I'm gonna go to bed. Love you guys. xD 3**_

There was a brief flash of consciousness, in which I was sucked from my comfortable void into a world of blaring sirens and voices. I felt out of place because there was nothing but darkness, and the pain I felt had grown into a tangible thing around me, prodding every gash and bruise. I knew from experience that panicking would be nothing more than painful, and I listened past the horrible screeching of sirens and yell of voices, and focused on the one good thing at the moment.

Hands.

They were warm, radiating heat through my chilled flesh from their resting points on the nape of my neck and my exposed arm. They were rough, calloused from years of some sort of hard work. There was a panicked voice near me that accompanied them, frenzied in what seemed to be remorse. "Look little girl, ya gotta wake up, there's ambulances here and sh—"

"Please step away from the injured woman sir, we'll take it from here."

The warmth and comfort the hands brought was gone as they and their regretful owner was forced away from me by cold voices, unaffected by the scene before them. I wanted to plead for the man to come back—but soon I was forced back into the hole I had been in before.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," there was a foreign, uneasy man to my right. I felt wobbly even though I knew I was stationary, and there was a newfound chill in my veins, as well as the beeping of a nearby heart-monitor that alerted me I was in a hospital.

"I don't know what it is Sam, I really don't…but I can't leave her here, not like this. I mean, _I_ did this to her. And for what? We both had been drinking—bet that thing didn't even exist. If I'd been a little more sober before leaving Seattle—"

"Dean, you can't beat yourself up like this! That thing had to be real—why else would the coordinates point to here? We need to find Dad, and we can't waste time because of some girl!"

"Are you listening to yourself?" I recognized the voice as its pitch rose in anger and frustration. I felt the ghost of warm hands on my skin. "I want to find Dad just as much as you do—hell, I bet I want to find him _more_ than you do—"

"Take that back!" A chair screeched and thumped to the ground. I jumped and my heart did so as well, but neither of the men realized. I gripped the crisp, cool sheets below me in an attempt to stay quiet. "I want to find Dad just as much as you do!"

"Well you're the one that left to go to college! Who was the one who cared enough to stay behind and hunt with Dad all these years, huh?"

"Well at least I _do_ care enough to—"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me about caring, Sam, I'll mess up your pretty little ass!" They were both angry and the room was tense and swirling. Pain throbbed deep inside my temples, but I was unable to stop listening.

"I _do_ care! More than you, apparently! Look at you, getting distracted because of some—some girl!"

"Getting distracted?" Both voices sounded livid at this point, and I felt fear creep up my spine and spread through my limbs, freezing me into my spot. I attempted to open my eyes.

A burning, searing pain coursed through my eyeballs, radiating out my sockets and wrapping around my skull, spreading down my neck and spine. I did not attempt to open them again.

"I _maimed_ a girl! You heard what the doctor said! She can't just adjust to this in a day!"

"She's the one who didn't have her headlights on!"

"She's not the one who was doing eighty on a twenty-five back-road!"

I relaxed my muscles as the lingering tendrils of pain vanished, and assigned names to each voice. It seemed Dean wanted something, but Sam completely disagreed. And they'd lost their father somehow.

Pain of a completely different nature chewed at my heart, clawed my insides. "Dean, Dad is in trouble," Sam had calmed as he spoke. "I know we both want to find him, but you're losing sight of that!"

"Dad does this to help others! _We_ do this to help others! Sammy…look at her. She's layin' there like that because _I_ made her like that. Dad wants us to help others before we help him and _dammit_ that's what I'm gonna do! Especially when it's my fault the girl needs help in the first place."

"But there's gotta be…" Sam started. His voice had lowered, more defeated.

"Doc said there's no family left of hers. She's lost everybody. Now look what I went and did. He said he isn't comfortable with two strangers takin' care of her but he's willing to let us sign her into our care for the time-being. We can stay with her and help her with everything she needs, and look for Dad on the side."

My thoughts slowed to a sluggish churn, chasing each other as confusion jammed my ability to process his words. I continued to listen, hoping he would explain what he had just said better. My fingers and toes felt cold.

"Dean…why? Why are you suddenly like this? You've never showed this kind of consideration before…"

"I don't know," Dean snapped, his voice short. "I don't know what I'm feeling. I just know I can't leave the girl here like this."

"Fine. But we have to look for Dad too."

"Sam, give the Dad thing a rest, why don't ya?"

A door opened to my left, and I relaxed at the familiar voice of an aging man. It took me a moment to remember the old doctor—the last time I had seen him was the night everything had begun to fall apart. I shivered and my nose stung with the urge to cry. "Hello gentlemen. I've been making calls to the police station and the case you have is a very interesting one. They have decided, in light of recent circumstances, that should Bella here give consent you will be allowed to stay with her. And either way…well, she is an adult. Now, though, she will be dependent for a short amount of time."

The doctor's steps were soft and sluggish as he came closer to me. I jumped at his touch on my wrist, and the painful wriggle of an IV tube in my vein. "Ah, she's awake."

"She is…?" The familiar voice, Dean, was a timid whisper, unlike the loudness of earlier.

"Bella?" Dr. Gerandy asked.

"Yeah," I croaked. "I'm awake."

"How long have you been awake dear?" he questioned as he let go of my arm, setting it back on the bed and moving away from me. I paused for a moment as the small grate of pencil on paper filled the room, next to breathing.

"I just woke up," I lied. There were chilled imprints where his fingers had been, and I had the urge to scrub at them, but I held still. My lip began to tremble as worry inside me—dread—increased, forcing tears to my eyes.

My eyes. I briefly wondered why my eyes had been so pained when I had tried to open them. I wanted to try again, but feared the searing agony too much. "Doctor…" I began hesitantly.

"Yes dear?" he nearly hummed.

"Is there something wrong with my eyes?"

The scribbling vanished, and all breathing stopped. My heart thumped loudly in my ears at the less than favorable reaction.

"Isabella…yes dear. In the car crash…" there was a long pause and my heart lurched to a stop, and I stopped breathing, my ears straining for his answer.

"Both of your eyes were pierced with glass. We were able to remove all of it, but cataracts have formed. Very opaque, inoperable cataracts." He stopped, and I scoured my mind for knowledge of cataracts. The word was familiar, and I began to remember that it was a blockage in the eye. It caused obstruction or loss of sight.

I tensed, my muscles curling in on themselves, my veins doused with ice, my head lightening as I grew faint.

"What do you mean?" my voice had cleared, but was nearly too quiet to hear.

"Bella…you're blind."


	3. Twilight - 3

_**I pushed myself to get this one out. Like I said, writing this has been very therapeutic and therefore it really wasn't a problem. I just felt bad for the short chapter and the bomb dropped so suddenly.**_

_**You guys are probably thinking this is gonna be boring, but I swear I'm doing my best to come up with ways to incorporate imagery with the other four senses. I now ya'll probably wanna know if Bella's little problem will be fixed, but I can't tell you that one. You'll just have to—as my mom always said—wait and anticipate. xD**_

_**Anyway, here's another short chapter. I GUARUNTEE the next one will be longer.**_

_**By the way, any OOCness is intentional, and will be explained.**_

_**That is all.**_

_**ENJOY! :D**_

Shock numbed me from my fingers to my toes, my core sucked into a deep void of nothing. I floated blankly for a second, simply empty, devoid of a reaction. But then I felt as if I was shot out of a cannon, bursting into the real world sooner than I could process. Suddenly, I was in a foreign dream, and I knew I was not dreaming and yet there was no way I couldn't be. It was so surreal.

I couldn't see a thing, and I felt myself hyperventilate as the impact of his words settled in on me. Blind. Blind meant unable to see. He hadn't said temporary. In fact, he'd said my cataracts were inoperable.

I would never see again.

Light, dark, blue, red, faces of loved ones that I would never see anyway—everything flashed through my mind at lightning speed. I felt my fingers begin to shake, my toes curling in a strange sense of disgust. Bile roiled in my stomach and my insides lurched this way and that—I felt seasick.

I swallowed and a sob scratched at my closed lips, but I pressed it down in order to talk. My voice was choked.

"What?" my response was not elegant, nor completely recognizable—it was a strangled whisper that sounded less than human and cut through the thick air that had gathered around me.

"Bella…I'm not sure how to tell you this…we did what we could but your cataracts are simply too large and opaque to remove. As far as we know there is no surgery for your condition, and if there was there is no one trained enough…Bella, you're going to be blind for…" he trailed off but I formed the words in my head.

I mouthed them silently. _You're going to be blind for the rest of your life._

"For the rest of my life…" I whispered slowly. My thoughts were muddled and murky. "I'm stuck like this…" I felt as if the world had taken a seat on my chest.

"She's not breathing," Dean's voice—at least, I thought it was his voice—pointed out.

"Breathe, Bella," the doctor instructed me.

"After everything," I muttered, ignoring him. My thoughts churned. _After everything that has happened, I've lost my sight as well. I can't just die, I have to go slowly, losing everything one at a time…_

"But Bella," Gerandy continued. "These men here have very generously offered to help you get through the adjustment to your new…way of living."

Anger flashed inside me—I felt my blood pumping hot in my veins, lava flowing through me, and I wanted to scream. _I don't need help! _But it quickly dissipated. I would constantly need help. Never again could I assure myself I was independent—no matter how far from the truth it had been, there was no possible way I could do anything on my own. I would have to relearn so much. Learn new things. Desire simple things I would never again have.

"Who…who…?" My thoughts turned to the car accident that caused this, and I was met with silence. "Who crashed into me? Are they okay?" I only hoped they were in better shape.

"I did," I did recognize the remorseful tone, and the chill of the hands came back to me. Dean? This newcomer had crashed into me and then offered to take care of me after?

Shame flooded my stomach and spilled into my chest. He simply felt guilty for putting me into this state—and he was going to give up what he currently had—whatever that was—for me. Because of this. When in the end, I couldn't blame him. He would have seen me if I hadn't left the cemetery like an idiot. I should have waited for daylight.

"I have enrolled you into classes for the blind," Gerandy continued. I heard the flip of paper, as well as a tearing noise. "Here," he addressed someone else. "You two hang onto this. If you are really going to stay with her then this is the number to the facility that runs the different classes Bella will take."

"No," I said at last. "You don't have to take care of me just because of some guilt trip. I'll do it by myself." I tried to keep my wavering voice firm and sure, but was far from succeeding. I was scared—genuinely scared of my future. What would happen to me now?

"Then, Bella, you'll go to a special home for the impaired," the doctor said with a regretful voice. "I don't want to see that happen to you. Please, take these men's offer."

"No, I'm not going to ruin other people's lives. They have a father to find, I can't stop them." I felt my muscles tense as terror ripped through me—I just caught myself in my own lie. I _had _been awake for longer than I'd said, and they knew that now. Somehow, something in the atmosphere changed, solidified, tensed—and I knew they caught me.

I swallowed the saliva and bile crawling in my throat.

"Bella," the other voice, Sam, was particularly strained and short. "You will be helping us _find our father_ by letting us stay with you. He disappeared on a hunting trip and we believe he came here." I sensed his tone.

Yep. They'd caught me.

Shame ran cold through me as I realized I'd most likely been eavesdropping on something private. It was none of my business where their father was or what they were doing here. "Okay. If you're sure," I said at last. I had no other arguments and my head hurt too much for me to try and think of any. I still hadn't completely grasped it—I knew that I would never again see, but at the same time it didn't feel real. My sight was something that couldn't be taken away that easily. No.

It was a dream.

"Well Bella…" Gerandy said to my right, and I heard beeping as my bed pushed me from a leaning to a sitting position. The IV jostled painfully in my wrist. "The only reason I trust these men with you is because if not for them you wouldn't be here…" he trailed off, his voice unsure. "If you're sure this is what you want to do…"

"I guess so…if they want to help me." I didn't understand quite why they would volunteer their help so easily. But I didn't care. My head ached and I hoped that soon they would leave me alone so I could simply slip into a deep sleep.

"We owe it to you," the voice and every other noise grew fuzzy and I was unable to identify who had said that. "And we need a place to stay anyway, so…win win."

"Alright. I'll get you out of here by tomorrow, Bella—your therapy and learning sessions will be scheduled for next week. I'm sure the town will pitch in to help you after…after all your loss."

"Thank you, Doctor."


	4. Twilight - 4

_**I've updated. I'm feeling relatively confident with this chapter, but I don't think I truly captured Dean's character, which I'm hoping to do better in the future. Now you don't HAVE to comment, but if you do, could you please give me suggestions for Dean and his personality? Tough love is the best love. :)**_

_**Though I do ask you to keep in mind that writing from the perspective of a blind person is not something I'm used to. Yet. I plan for this to be a pretty lengthy story.**_

_**And as for Bella getting back her sight? You'll have to see. xD**_

_**But as I said before, blatant and obvious OOCness will be explained later on. ;)**_

_**By the way, I do not own.**_

_**Enjoy hun. ;***_

I'd fallen asleep right after the men and the doctor left. I'd stayed asleep until late the next day, when I was lifted from my bed and onto a wheel chair. I hated the feeling of someone else wheeling me around, and usually preferred to do it myself—but my eyes had bandages over them.

It was hard to accept that bandages or not, I would no longer see.

I tried to remember the last time I'd been to the hospital. The orange plastic chairs, the bright fluorescent lights, the checkered tiles. I tried to imagine passing by all of it but it was a feeble attempt. Still all I saw was darkness—and it scared me.

I felt myself shaking, and whoever was wheeling me felt it too. "Don't worry," I recognized the higher pitch of Sam. "It's okay. I got you."

"Why are you doing this? Staying to help me?" I asked. I wanted to know what would cause someone to be so nice.

"Honestly? I was wondering the same thing," he muttered.

"Don't mumble, Sammy-boy! Doesn't do too well with the ladies!" I recognized Dean's voice, and there were heavy footsteps to my right. I turned my head in that direction.

"I just found out I'm blind. Not gonna happen either way," I snapped. I heard something foreign, but strangely familiar—a throaty laugh. I couldn't fight the smirk it caused on my own face.

"And she's feisty! Well sweet-heart, I hate to break it to you, but I've conquered plenty of disabled chicks."

"That's so sick," I groaned, leaning back against the cool metal frame of the wheelchair.

There was a strange noise from above me, and it took me a moment to realize that Sam had snorted. "Only if being a dumb blonde counts as disabled."

"Which it does," Dean defended from somewhere ahead of us. I felt the rush of cool air as we went through the door to the outside world.

"Please get me out of this," I begged—warm hands clasped my own and helped me up and out of the wheelchair—I staggered, pain shooting through my sore hip, and fell into a cool fabric. I breathed in—leather. It was definitely leather. And something else.

I rolled my eyes upwards, clumsily stepping back—the hands had caught my waist and held me steady as I wobbled in their grip. I tried to look up and see the person who caught me, to figure out who it was—but I couldn't. Luckily, the hands were a giveaway. I remembered the accident, the warmth of his hands keeping me together through the flash of chaos and noise.

"Thanks," I mumbled slowly. I felt the heat of blood rush up my neck to my face, flooding it in a horrible blush.

"No problemo." There was a cheeky, boyish quality to Dean's words that gave him a near accent that belonged solely to a bad-boy. I wondered briefly what he looked like—he was tall, I knew that much. He was wearing leather. Other than that, I had no idea.

I breathed in again, and the chill of the winter hit my lungs, making me shiver. "Really…why are you doing this? I mean, I wouldn't stay with some girl just because I crashed into her."

I blushed as I remembered my embarrassment at the fact that both Dean and Sam had performed CPR on me. I hoped they hadn't had their lips on mine—I would never be able to live that down. I balled my fists and rubbed my fingers to warm them from the cold.

I took leaden steps as Dean gently guided me to a car. The seats below me were soft, and again there was the scent of leather. He leaned over me to strap me in. "Watch out now—this car, it's my baby," he warned.

"Hurt it and you die," Sam mocked from somewhere in front of us.

"Yup," Dean agreed happily, his voice light and airy. "And we're doing this because…well, it'll help us too. And other than that I don't really know why. I just gotta help out. Don't ask me. I probably wouldn't do it any other time either…" At first I thought he was going to continue, and he paused just to my left, the car dipping below his weight. But then the door shut and his explanation was cut off.

I felt blank the whole car ride. Occasionally, they would give me the name of the street they were on and I would direct them. It wasn't until the car bumped on gravel that I knew we were home.

"Alright, you get Bella in, and I'll grab some bags."

Foreign hands gently nudged mine, and he pulled me up. I could sense that Sam was taller than Dean, and his steps were slow as he guided me to the door. When there, his calloused hands found mine and he guided them to the doorknob.

I dug in my pocket for the key, but came up empty. Panic rose inside my chest. "The key! It was in my car!"

"What?" Sam asked, his voice holding exasperation. "That car was totaled! The keys weren't found!"

I tried to breathe. There was a spare key. I searched my mind for its location. "Wait," I began slowly. "Wait…um…the light. Inside the light."

I heard the whine of screws as he took apart the glass surrounding the porch light. "Sam! What the hell are you—?"

"Key," Sam replied, grabbing my hand and setting the cold metal into it. Again, he guided me to the doorknob.

I struggled briefly to find the keyhole, and lining the key up with it took a small forever. Finally the pins clicked and I turned the knob. A rush of heat greeted me and I went to step in.

"Whoa!" someone yelped, and I wasn't sure who had me, but I felt like I was floating as my heart gave a delayed jump. I dangled by my jacket, and someone held onto it tight, but I felt myself slipping forward. I knew I was inches from the floor, as the smell of treated wood was unusually strong, and my breath bounced back at me.

Finally Sam managed to get me upright, chastising me, "You really need to be more careful."

But I was unable to listen to him. My mind ran away with me. This would be harder than I had imagined. I would be deprived of so many things I had taken for granted. This just went to show—I wasn't even able to safely enter my own house at this point. I desperately needed the help these men were generously—_suspiciously_—giving me.

The thoughts rushed by, but that one stuck in my head. How had I not thought of just how suspicious this offer was? I was defenseless—more so than ever—and I was letting two grown men into my house, where I would be most vulnerable.

This wasn't smart. But something inside me—a voice of my own that was so sure of itself it seemed foreign—urged me to trust them. Something made me believe that in the end they were not to be feared. Was this the same thing that fueled my fascination with vampires?

The word brought a stinging pain to my chest, and I battled my thoughts away as I pushed my arms in front of me. I felt someone try to grab my arm and guide me, but I brushed them away.

"I need to figure this out on my own," I reasoned. I heard creaky footsteps and the sighing thump of bags being dropped to the floor. I tried to remember the layout of my home, and judge the distance from the door to the sofa. I stepped in that direction and immediately stumbled.

"How about we help you out now, and you figure all this stuff out later," Dean's voice was beside me, closer than I had anticipated, and I jumped backwards and landed against someone else—Sam.

"Yeah," Sam continued as he caught me and steadied me onto my own two feet. "We need to know where to put our bags. I'll help you up the stairs."

I shook my head vigorously. I had never been able to master stairs with my sight—I was feeling shaky, sick, and tired. I doubted I would make it upstairs alive. "I don't think I can do that tonight. Too much." They seemed to understand, and there was a small pause in our conversation.

"Well then," I sensed a cheeky grin in Dean's voice. My world toppled to the side and I shrieked in fear at the sudden rush of movement, accompanied with the foreign stillness of nothing. That was all I saw—nothing. My eyes were closed, still bandaged, but I knew that this darkness would be all I saw for good. I shivered, hanging onto a warm, strong neck as arms gripped my back and legs. "Looks like I'll have to help you out."

"Thanks," my remark was meant to be sarcastic, but my voice was too shaky to accomplish anything more than a trembling whisper. My thoughts continued to wander—I could no longer read, watch TV, I would have to learn how to read Braille—how would I write?

I felt his movements as he took the stairs, and I counted each step until we reached number seventeen. I wasn't sure how I knew, but there were seventeen steps. Was that an odd number for a staircase? I wasn't sure.

"Um…" I wracked my brain for where to put them. There were three bedrooms—I had taken to crying myself to sleep in a certain one, but I wasn't sure if I could place them in mine. I mentally shrugged because I had no choice but to give one of them mine. I had taken to Charlie's room—his bed was the largest, everything signified him and his character, and I'd never really realized how much I truly loved and cared for him. Knowing that he loved me from afar for all those years, even when I wanted nothing to do with him and Forks for so long—and yet he welcomed me into his home with open arms. Accommodated me to the best of his ability.

Now it was over. It was over too fast and all my affection caught up to me in a big rushing swell, like a tidal wave, and I had been pulled deeper into my hole.

And yet I was awake now. I saw myself clearer than before, and that statement was so ironic I wanted to laugh, but was rendered unable.

"Hello…? Look, doll face, you're not made of air." I wasn't sure I was comfortable with all the sarcastic nicknames that were suddenly assigned to me. They were terms of endearment and I didn't want that. Not from anyone right now, especially not a suspicious stranger that I found myself trusting for reasons beyond me. Everything inside me screamed at me to kick them out, but there was some force that overrode everything.

"Um, to your left. The purple and green room. One of you can have that." I was thankful I had already taken the time to move my scarce clothing to a small bag in the master bedroom.

The walk took a mere three steps, and the door swung open with a loud creak. "Huh. Kinda girly…" Dean muttered.

There was stomping on the stairs. Dean turned his head and shouted cheerfully, "Hey Sam! Found your room! To the left!"

We turned around and I shifted farther up, leaning against Dean to avoid whacking my feet on the wall. I thought again about my lack of sight—I tried to think about how blind people led happy, healthy, normal lives, even with their disadvantage. And I recalled being a small child and thinking it cool that they adapted with their other senses.

I tried to listen to the things around me. I held my breath and felt my heart beating, my veins pumping. In rhythm with my own heartbeat, I felt the steady thrum of Dean's. His breathing was also at a normal pace.

I heard Sam's faint breathing as he came closer. His steps were loud, sure, and I could tell he didn't drag his feet by the direct sound they made. Dean, however, began to walk forward, and his feet were softer than Sam's, and shuffled against the ground just the slightest.

I heard wind outside the window, and a few adventurous birds who dared to stick around into early November. I heard the scrape of branches just outside my old window. It hurt to think of that tree, of that window, and of those memories, but I battled the pain back into a manageable spot, promising myself to cry later on.

"I left the _bag_ downstairs. Easy access," Sam replied to Dean. He brushed past us. "Dude…is this a chick's room?"

"Yup. It's like destiny and fate got together and prepared that room special just for you, Sammy-cake," Dean said, just a hint of mocking in his voice. "So Bella. Where's my room?"

This was the precise moment I noticed he had yet to put me down. And though the words climbed up my throat, to politely ask him to let go, I found myself swallowing them back.

Had he truly saved me? He and Sam? Had they pulled me from a burning car and performed CPR on me?

I shook the thought away. "Um, down the hall, across from the bathroom," I replied.

"But this is a chick's room," Sam moaned from behind us. I found myself genuinely snickering—the shock of the action made me stop.

Dean ignored him, continuing to walk. I hadn't seen much of the guest room, but it was neutral, pale, but not unpleasant. Charlie had kept his spare rifles above the small television there.

I found my nose stinging and my chest tightening with the repressed urge to cry.

"The old man hunt or something? Nice guns," Dean praised. He set me down at last, walking away to retrieve his bags before I could answer.

I felt wetness seeping through the bandages on my eyes.

"He did."


	5. Twilight - 5

_**Thank you guys for your great reviews! Really, if I can't reply, they still bring such a smile to my face. :) I need those smiles to get me through my day sometimes, you know? Physical therapy is a bitch.**_

_**But forget I just said that. XD**_

_**Anyway, I'm writing a lot now. Probably too much, lol. Hell, I'm dreaming about this story. I'm focusing on it and my cousin encourages me all the time. She says my project is helping me a lot. I don't really know, but it's a great way to relax. So maybe my updates won't quite take months, but I apologize in advance if I happen to take forever at any point in time.**_

_**And I threw in a bit of juiciness to thicken the plot. Boo-yah. XP**_

_**Anyway, here we go. Some Sam and Bella interaction.**_

_**But this will be a DEAN/BELLA story. Just to make sure you know. ;) I plan for some interaction between those two in the next chapter, so we'll see how that one goes.**_

_**Love you, hun.**_

_**Enjoy! :D**_

The boys settled themselves in and it didn't take me long to barricade myself into my room. I explained where everything they would need was—which was basically the phone for pizza, and the remote for the television. Whatever they decided to do was left to them.

I locked the door and stretched out my arms, keeping my feet planted on the cool floor below me as I searched the air, just tapping against the nearby dresser. I followed it until my toes brushed the nightstand. I grabbed onto the bed just before launching myself onto it.

It creaked with age as I bounded into the middle, cocooning myself in blankets. I tried not to think of anything as I lied on my side, attempting to clear my mind and hopefully just drift away. I began to wonder; if I allowed my head to get empty enough, would I simply disappear? The idea was appealing, but I soon became disappointed as thoughts began to drift into my head unbidden.

I tried to envision my life after this moment. I saw myself with a cane and dark sunglasses. But then I realized that I couldn't rely on just a cane, as I was too clumsy for that—I pictured myself with a beautiful golden retriever by my side. I think I could deal with a pet, especially when that pet was my only way of getting around safely.

I wasn't able to imagine anything else. A small clip of me, in my mid-thirties, guided by a dog on a harness looped itself over and over. I had no idea what was going to come next—all I knew was that it would most likely be the average life of a blind person. Would I be able to find work? Most likely not. Love? Definitely not.

I had yet to admit to myself that my shot at eternity was long gone, but at last the idea didn't seem so scary. I couldn't be wanted by even the most mundane human man at this point. I wouldn't be able to establish myself as a successful woman as I had dreamed when I was little. I had nothing left to live for, except the quiet acceptance and patient wait for death.

The thought gave me a numb, dulled chill, and I curled in on myself. Charlie's old blankets scratched against any exposed skin in a familiar and comforting way. I felt tears stain my bandage further, soaking it.

It was all gone. I'd lost contact with Renee and Phil. I had no idea who else would go on a spontaneous, two year long tour of the Europe and not say anything other than my mother—but I had been so engrossed in my former life that I hardly paid any mind to her antics. While before I would have reasoned with her, I hadn't cared at that point, and that left me alone. _I _had severed that tie, and I regretted it so deeply now that my very bones throbbed with it.

The Cullens. They were pure pain to me at this point. I could remember them fondly enough—six of them, at least—but I always paid for it later. I had placed them all at the center of my world and they had removed themselves so violently that I doubted my wound would heal.

Charlie…his blow was the hardest. Every day I made sure to say the closest I could to my love for him with a simple, "Be careful," or "Be safe." But I had finally worn down his frayed nerves with my catatonic behavior. He had grown reckless on the job, and—

I was sobbing into my pillow, hoping to muffle the sound, but there was a sharp, slow knock on my door. I was unable to recognize which boy it was. "Are you in there? We decided to order that pizza you told us about—you gonna have some?"

"I'm feeling sick," I managed to force words from my throat in a horrible response. "Thanks though."

The intruder left, and I felt immensely tired. I relaxed and all of my tensed muscles sagged—hours of nothing but darkness passed, and at last I slipped into a deeper slumber than I had ever had before.

When I woke again the sun was warm on my face, and soaking into my skin. I delighted on the light touch, and felt as if I was being kissed, just lightly, by light itself.

When I finally decided to stir, the house was completely quiet. It took me a long time to make my way to the stairs, and I held tightly to the railing as I mustered the courage and swallowed the shame to yell out. "Um," I croaked, and cleared my throat. "Guys? I need help with the stairs again…"

"Coming," the lone, higher pitch of Sam responded, and his heavy, precise footsteps echoed through the empty house. He gripped my hand and brought me close to his side, and patiently led me down the stairs and to the kitchen, where the smell of bacon lingered in the air.

I mustered a smile, and though it was a sad attempt, he said nothing. "I see you've helped yourself to the food."

"Yeah, sorry about that one…I'll buy the groceries from now on…" his tone was soft.

"No, it's fine. I have plenty of money." I realized immediately after saying so that it probably was not the smartest to make such a statement to a strange man who was currently living with me. Again, I couldn't bring myself to feel an ounce of distrust—I hadn't even seen them, for God's sake, but I was unable to feel suspicious.

"So," I began after a pause. I mulled over just leaving the awkward silence to hang in the air, but I decided to plow through the awkward conversation that was inevitable either way. "How do you and Dean know each other, again?"

"We're brothers," he responded. He guided me to sit on a nearby wooden chair, and I shivered at the coolness as it seeped through my jeans. That was when I realized I hadn't changed into pajamas to sleep. "We're looking for our father. He got lost on a hunting trip."

I had forgotten all about that. I pleaded silently for him not to bring up my slip at the hospital.

To no avail.

"So how much of our conversation did you _really_ hear?" I didn't know him, and therefore I was nowhere near sure, but had I been forced to take a guess, I would say he didn't sound mad. Almost playful, or amused.

"A little bit of an argument. It's kind of fuzzy though," I said truthfully. I didn't remember too much of what they said. "I just remembered your dad because…" I didn't continue. _…because of mine._

He didn't push. "Okay then."

There was another awkward pause in which I searched desperately for something to say, simultaneously hoping he would think of something before I did. "Would you like some breakfast—er, lunch?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." Again, I mustered my best smile as the click of the stove ignition and the rattle of pans alerted me to his location. I reviewed his question. Lunch? "What time is it, anyway?"

I shifted backward in my chair, gripping the table for fear of falling. I crossed my legs as he answered, "Four."

"Wow," was all I could respond with. I knew I had gone to bed before midnight, at least. That was pretty late to sleep.

"Well, you did just get out of the hospital. Couldn't blame you," he avoided the blindness thing, which I was thankful for.

"Where's uh, where's Dean?" I asked at last.

"Looking for Dad. I stayed back with you, then we're gonna switch off," his voice was mellow, easy, and somehow soothing. It wasn't long before I heard the creak of tiles and the click of a plate on the table. The eggs and bacon smelled great—but then I felt trembles of fear shoot through me. How was I going to eat?

I shakily reached for my fork, but got yolk all over my fingers instead. I laughed nervously, covering my mishap by grabbing a crunchy piece of bacon. I bit into it and as I chewed, I realized how hungry I truly was. Holding the bacon with one hand, I located and clumsily used my fork with the other—I wasn't sure how terrible the mess was, but I didn't care. Sam didn't say anything, just occasionally refilled my plate.

At last I felt as if I was going to burst. "Thanks. I didn't know how hungry I was until I started eating."

"No problem. I'll get you a napkin though." There was a laugh in his voice.

"Sorry about the mess," I quietly added.

He laughed. "You actually didn't do too bad. Mainly got yourself."

My smile was a tad more genuine.

A chair scraped against the floor and groaned as Sam sat onto it. A question popped into my mind and out of my mouth. "Are you and Dean hunters too? Like your Dad?"

He paused. "Um yeah. We are. Ever since we were little our Dad dragged us around the country, looking for…" He trailed off.

"The perfect hunt?" I guessed. Charlie had a similar vendetta.

"Yeah."

"My Dad was just like that," I sighed. I leaned forward in my chair, locating the table with my elbows. I rested my head in my hands. "He had these moments where he would rave on and on about his dream buck, or bear, or whatever it was…I just wish I listened more."

I swallowed, my emotions stirring inside their cage. "What happened to your Dad?" Sam's voice was sincere.

"He was a cop," I bit out the words, trying to choke my tears before they came. "The sheriff, actually. He, um. He was a firefighter at one point. That was what he wanted to be, but my mom convinced him that he could become a cop and be the sheriff—you know, to earn more money. But there was a house-fire, and he helped rescue this little baby…" My fists were balled, and my arms were unable to support my head. I leaned back in my seat again. "He had just handed it off to a firefighter when the roof collapsed on him."

"I'm so sorry, Bella," Sam sounded genuinely sorry, and I brushed him off.

"It's okay. I just…I feel bad for not spending enough time with him."

"That's understandable," Sam reasoned. "But I'm sure you did your best." I knew I hadn't, and his reassurance made me feel even worse.

There was a pause in which I tried to gather myself enough to look relatively dignified. I wasn't sure how well I did.

"Hey, Bella? That house-fire…what happened?"

The question was strange, but I supposed he was simply curious. "It…it, uh, had two deaths. The mom of the house and my Dad. Um…there actually is something really weird about the whole thing…" I remembered finding out that it was Mike's house when he told me about his Dad's ravings after the fire. He was on medication now for post-traumatic-stress disorder, but he insisted that what he saw had been real.

"Weird? Weird how?" Sam asked, and in his voice there was something, something different, something that drove the question. But I thought nothing of it.

"He said…" I wasn't sure if I should repeat this to a stranger who knew nothing about it, but I had begun venting and my lips moved and I just couldn't stop myself. "He said his Dad saw his mom, in the nursery. She…she was gutted on the ceiling, and she was still breathing. He said that she caught on fire and he ran, and forgot the baby."

I picked at my thumbnail with my index finger. Sam stayed completely silent, and I wondered if he thought I was crazy after telling him something like that. The odd thing was that Mike was so shaken up because his Dad vividly recalled such a horrific scene. Mike didn't want to believe him, but the last time we spoke, he said he couldn't help himself.

Then he and his sister had become wards of the state. His father was called unfit.

I felt my heart clench in sympathy. They'd lost everybody too.

"I have to call Dean, um, really quick. Want me to take you to the living room?" His voice was oddly urgent, strained, and I shook my head.

"No, I'm going to try and get there by myself."

"Okay." His footsteps faded, and the front door opened and then shut.


	6. Twilight - 6

"Honey, I'm home," Dean called out. I was on the couch next to Sam, leaning back against the soft cushions. I breathed in deeply as the sounds of fighting came from the television. I had no idea what was going on—it was hard to follow a movie I couldn't see. The door shut softly and Dean's light footsteps became louder as he came into the room. "Well don't you two look all cozy."

"Yeah, whatever," The couch jostled me as Sam got up and walked away. "Did you find anything?"

"Nada," Dean replied. The couch dipped again, and his voice was closer to me. "Just walked around in the woods all day. Glad to be back. Go have fun."

"It's not about having fun, Dean," Sam reminded him, "It's about finding Dad."

"Yeah, you think I don't know that Sam?" I sensed an argument, as the subject seemed to be a touchy one to the both of them.

Sam sighed, and the door opened. "I'll be back in a while, I guess. Should I pick up food?"

"Yes!" Dean answered immediately.

"Please," I added.

"Yeah, Sammy, pretty please with sugar on top," Dean mocked.

"And whipped cream!" I added, a smile coming to my face at being able to just joke around. I truly couldn't remember the last time I'd done so.

"Ooh, kinky," Dean laughed.

"Please would have worked just fine. Anything specific?" Sam deadpanned.

There was something I hadn't had in so long, and suddenly I craved it. It was a comfort food and I didn't care about watching my weight—I never really had, but the blindness was such a setback that I didn't worry if I went hog-wild with eating. Who would want me anyway?

"Um…burgers," I said before anything else could be suggested. I hoped I sounded like I wouldn't budge.

"Nice, I like this girl!" Dean said, and I could tell he was smiling.

Sam left shortly after that, yelling goodbye to us on his way out. There was a small pause as Dean situated himself on the couch next to me. "It's been a while since I've stayed anywhere like this," he commented at last.

"I hope that's a good thing," I responded.

He laughed. "Yeah, it is."

There was another pause, which was hard for me to find awkward. The fighting in the background suddenly changed to talking and laughing. "Let's see what's on the boob-tube."

He clicked the remote and I listened to each channel—there was a screeching monkey, then cheering, then dramatic music, then simple dialogue. A few minutes passed this way, and I scooted farther into the couch.

"So, Bella," Dean began, "Sam tells me I should ask you about a house-fire."

"I guess…" I found it strange that Sam thought it was so important as to go to Dean about it. There were definitely odd things, and a few pieces of information didn't completely add up, but it didn't make sense for Sam to be so interested. "It happened to a guy I knew." I paused, contemplating this strange interest.

"So…"

"His dad saw his mom cut up on the ceiling of his sister's nursery…" Mike's ramblings, wide-eyed stare came back to me. He had told me this just before letting me know about my father's fate. "She caught on fire and he ran."

"Wow. That's pretty weird," he commented at last. His voice was slightly guarded, but otherwise at ease, unlike Sam had been. Sam tensed almost immediately, his voice tight as he spoke, his footsteps hurried. Dean hadn't moved, and didn't sound affected.

"What was the cause of the fire?" he asked at last.

"I'm not sure. Some kind of electrical shortage or something," I responded absently, Mike's blue eyes filled with fear and terror ingrained in my mind.

"Huh. So, this house…? Any idea where it is?"

I tried to remember where Mike had said he lived. _'If you ever need any help, I live right across from the school over there. The big blue house…'_

"Um, if you go left down my street and turn right on the main road, it'll lead you right to it. You just have to go down a little bit." Mentally, I reviewed my route to the school. Yes, that would take him to the school, and the house.

"Wanna come with me?" He asked from somewhere near the door. I had nothing else to do, and I honestly did not want to spend my time in the house. There was no longer anything for me here. Books…television…hell, even walking on my own. I hadn't realized how dependent I was on my sight.

"I guess so," I replied quietly. "Why are we going, anyway?"

"Why not?" he quipped as the door creaked open.

"I guess that's as good an answer as any," I conceded as he took my hand and led me slowly to the car. Again, he buckled me in, though I wanted to protest, I stayed quiet. Soon enough the car rumbled to life and he shot off. The drive was relatively smooth, and soon we swerved and stopped.

"Not much left, is there?"

I hadn't seen the house before, so I had no idea what it looked like. I tried to keep the fact that my father died here out of my head, and it seemed to work as I responded, "No, I guess not."

"How about you stay in the car?" he didn't really ask, as opposed to ordered, but I supposed that was for the best. I didn't want to get any closer to it, as something inside me recoiled from the area. That and I didn't feel comfortable walking by myself, and if he wanted to examine the area it would be faster and easier for him to do so alone.

I breathed in deeply, the distinct smell of grime and leather, as well as faint chemicals drifting into my lungs. The car must have had a leather interior, and grime was a given when it came to hunting, tracking around in the woods all day. I supposed that if Dean truly treated this car as his baby, I shouldn't be surprised that he would clean it. There was something else, too—a smell that normally came only from older houses, ones that had been distinctly lived in.

How long had they been in this car? Had they _slept_ in here? Sam had said their father dragged them around the country—but sleeping in a car for the sake of hunting some animal? That sounded insane to me, but at the same time I knew some people took hunting seriously. They obviously fell into that category.

Time dragged on, and I estimated when an hour had passed, yet Dean still wasn't back yet. Mike had bragged about the size of his house, the worth of his car and the wealth of his parents, so I figured the area would be rather large, but Dean seemed to take much longer than necessary. Being interested was one thing, but he had to be deeply examining the rubble to be so long. Why were him and Sam so rooted on this fire? I hadn't really wanted to talk about it, and had hoped to distract him, but he had come right back to it like it was crucial. Would this help them find their father?

It was the only thing I could think of. I would only be _this _interested if something helped me. But how could this and their father possibly have anything to do with each other? Unless their father was some sort of serial arsonist, but I found that extremely hard to believe. Again I began to wonder why my trust was so easy to earn.

When it came to the Cullens, I seemed to lack any basic instincts that would tell any other human to stay away. I should have felt the urge to run, to panic, and yet each non-human thing I caught about them only intrigued me more, pulled me in deeper. I trusted them the moment I heard they were good vampires—which should have been an oxy-moron to me at the time. At this point in time, after truly having gotten to know them, I knew better.

But then again, how well did I know them? I never anticipated them abandoning me, and yet suddenly they were gone. Like they hadn't existed.

I wiped my tears and backtracked.

Then I trusted James. The thought never occurred to me that he could be tricking me—that he could possibly not have my mother at all. I had immediately trusted that he had her and would kill her, when in reality all he had was a few stupid recordings. I should have remembered that she wasn't in Phoenix to begin with.

Now this. These two men crash into me, and I knew they had been driving recklessly. While I had no headlights, they were going much too fast for the small road they were on. And granted, they had pulled me from my burning car—which I later learned had flipped into a ditch—called 911 and performed CPR on me. I remembered just a glimpse of that night when Deam told me to hold on, that paramedics were coming; he had been worried, remorseful.

And yet somehow I knew that shouldn't be enough reason to trust them to come into my house and take care of me. Yet again I was simply _unable_ to say no. Once I learned that not only would they be helping me, but I would be helping them, I couldn't turn down their offer.

Their explanations. Dean's especially. They were shady. I could understand feeling guilt, but offering to stay with a girl until she got back on her feet? Who knew how long that could take me? But he hadn't hesitated. And when I asked him he had admitted that he wasn't sure why he wanted to help. He admitted that he probably wouldn't have said—probably shouldn't have said—that he would help. And yet he had.

The car dipped beneath Dean's weight as he shut the door and started the ignition. My questions were burning in my throat, and I spoke to relieve them, "Do you regret offering to help me? Because you can leave whenever you want."

He paused, the car stopped. "No. I don't. I probably should. But I don't. And anyway, my dad is probably here somewhere, and Sam and I could use a place to stay without paying rent."

"So you're using a blind girl?"

"No, it ain't like that," he replied. "We'll help you out and stuff. But you're helping us too."

"That's really confusing," I admitted. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense."

"I know," was all he could respond with, and we backed out and turned, driving back to my house.

"So what took you so long out there? What were you doing?"

"You know, just picking around…"

"Why?"

He paused, and the car rumbled beneath us. I listened to the rhythm of his breathing, distracting myself by matching mine to it. Absently, I scratched at my arm. "It brought back some memories."

I hesitated, the question just on the tip of my tongue. But I didn't want to intrude, as the site of a horrific house-fire surely didn't bring back fond memories. Yet I ended up asking anyway, without my mind's complete consent, "Memories?"

He let out a long sigh, and his breathing regulated again as he gathered his thoughts. I breathed in deeply, smelling the leather, the grime, the dust, the homey scent that truthfully did not belong in a car. "When Sammy and I were little, our mom died in a house-fire."

"I'm so sorry," I replied sympathetically. "I mean…" I paused to continue, but he cut me off.

"It's alright," his voice was gruffer than before, and I wondered if that meant he wanted to drop the subject.

I turned my body away from him, leaning back against the seat and picking at the nail of my index finger. I bit my lip. "My dad died in that house-fire," I said at length, hoping to ease the tension I felt slipping between us.

"I'm sorry," his voice lost its previous edge, and I heard a hint of covered compassion. I wondered about Dean for a brief moment—about Dean and Sam. What were they like? I had no idea who they were, and I decided that I wanted to find out. They were living with me, after all—hell, they had to help me do the smallest of things at this point. I was lucky I could still go to the bathroom on my own.

"It's okay. I just wanted you to know that I know how you feel, losing someone that way."

He made a noise of acknowledgement. We stayed silent for a moment. "So, your Dad, huh? That's rough," he commented at last. His voice was softer, and had lost that hard tone he'd gained at the mention of his mother.

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about your Mom," I was. I didn't want anyone to go through that pain.

"Don't worry about it. We were little."

"I know…still…" I didn't continue.

"Hey, Bella. That Mike kid…what he says about his Dad…you wouldn't happen to believe him, would you?" he sounded curious, but I felt as if it wasn't a question I could just brush off. Because I did, in fact, believe him. I knew of the supernatural, and I could only imagine the horrific things vampires could do. I didn't rule out what happened to Mike's mother.

But I couldn't say any of that. There was no way in hell Dean would believe me. I would be considered just as crazy as Mike's Dad.

I realized my pause was too long, and Dean called me out before I could speak. "Do you?"

"No, no," I rushed. "No. I just…I wonder what makes Mike's Dad think he saw what he did." I hoped my lie was convincing enough.

"Probably just trauma or something."

Relief was warm in my veins. "Yeah," I agreed.

The conversation stopped for a few moments, but the silence was not uncomfortable. I searched my mind for something to say. "So you and Sam are on the road?"

"Yeah. We've been pretty much all over the place."

I smiled. I imagined what it would be like to leave everything behind, to jump in a car and just go wherever, doing what I liked. The prospect sounded so wonderful, so freeing, and I ached to beg him to let me come. But then I remembered that they were on a mission—looking for their father. I _obviously_ would be of no use there. And why would they take me anyway? This situation was strange enough, and temporary. I doubted they would want me around very long.

Because deep down, I knew this agreement wouldn't last. How could they put up with me for more than a week? I would just have to count my blessings and be satisfied with their generosity so far.

"I bet you've seen some pretty amazing things," I sighed. I wished to see the beautiful landmarks that littered our country—and since I was small I had hoped to go to Europe. But now I couldn't go anywhere, or see anything, and it killed me that it had all been taken away from me.

He gave a short, cynical laugh. "Yeah. Pretty amazing all right."

He sounded sarcastic, and I wondered why that would be. Did they never stop and look at something out of the ordinary? "What do you mean? Haven't you gone to see anything? Mount Rushmore? The Grand Canyon? Washington DC?"

He laughed a dry, sarcastic laugh. But then there was a pause, and a small sigh, "I always have wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Or maybe Hollywood. See if I could bang Lindsay Lohan."

I found myself laughing, a foreign tickle in my chest and throat as I did so, because the idea was just so absurd that I couldn't help myself. But then I sobered. "You should go."

"Go?" he responded, surprise coloring his voice, "Go where?"

"When you leave here," I continued. My voice was serious, staid, and I hoped with all my heart that he would listen to me because he could _see_. Unlike me, he and Sam had the ability to go places, see sights, do things. "See the Grand Canyon. Bang Lindsay Lohan. Do everything. Please." I felt a smile tugging at my lips when I repeated his Lindsay dream, but I remained serious. I wanted everyone to do what they were able to, and he was able to do these things I would be deprived of, and he wouldn't miss the chance. I didn't want him, or anybody else, to.

There was silence, a contemplative silence following my earnest words. I began to wonder at my outburst—but everything had been the truth. I didn't want a single soul to miss out on the opportunity to actually see.

"What gives with you? Why would you say all that?"

I took a moment to think about how to put my thoughts into words. "I haven't been blind long…but I don't know. I already regret the things I _saw_, but never really _looked at_. And I think if you're already on one big road trip, you should take a break and see some sights."

Again, there was silence. But it lasted for a mere second. "Thanks. I've actually…I've thought the same thing a few times. Hell, a lot of times."

"Then why haven't you tried to do what you've always wanted?"

He sighed. "Some things are just more important, ya know?" Was he talking about his father? How long had the man been missing? Surely not long.

I knew how bad wandering the woods alone could be. At least, I knew that now.

"How long…how long since you last saw your dad?" I asked, trepidation filling me at his coming answer. I didn't know Dean, and I didn't know Sam, but I still hoped their father was okay.

"Well, I last talked to him probably three weeks ago…it's probably been a little over a month since I've seen him."

My heart stopped. That was not good at all. Who knew what could have happened to him? A bear? A wolf? Or…something worse? "I'm…" I tried to choke out fitting words. "I'm sorry…"

"I'm really worried," his last admission was quiet, as if it pained him to say or think it, but somehow, through the sorrow for Dean and Sam's pain, I found myself smiling at the sweetness of it—Dean hadn't seemed the type for heart-to-hearts, and had so far kept a cynical mask of dry humor over everything. But that was the raw emotion of distress, distress for a loved one, and I could recognize it from a mile away.

"And what are you smiling at?" I didn't recognize the tone of his voice. Angry? Humorous?

"Just…what you said. I could tell you're worried about your Dad."

"That's worth smiling about?" he snorted.

"It was…sweet!" I defended myself, a heavy rush of blood swelling in my cheeks, heating them, spreading down my neck. At first my thoughts had sounded justified, but now I wondered if I really just was saying something stupid.

"Uh-huh." And then there was a quiet, comfortable silence.


	7. Twilight - 7

_**Howdy ya'll. Not the happiest with this chapter, but I needed something to move us along. While I don't wanna go too fast, this is going to be a REALLY long story. I'll keep it interesting, but I'm gonna go through all of season 1 in here. Bear with me—it won't be boring stick to the script type stuff. Bella's arrival and subsequent involvement will dramatically change things as our stories progress. But we're lookin at 6 stories. One for each season, lol.**_

_**Anyway, physical therapy is good. I'm home alone right now because everyone else is on vacation though. But that's okay. More hobby time for me. And if you can, I urge you to check out my other Bella/Alec story. Not a crossover, but I'm hoping it'll interest you.**_

_**So yes. Like I said, not one of my finest chapters, but it got our ball rolling. We're getting there. If you can bear with me I'd appreciate your patience. I love you guys!**_

_**Enjoy. :)**_

My heart was pounding, sweat was cold and clammy all over my body, my sheets clung to me much too tightly, and I fought to breathe. The sun warmed my face as I sat up straight, trying to force breath around the horrible knot in my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but it bobbed and grew, and coughing it up only did the same. Clumsily, I stood, searching for relief, for a distraction from the horrible nightmare—the horrible, strange, confusing, ambiguous nightmare. I tripped and fumbled my way to the door, breaking three nails to pry it open. Blood was salty in the air, running down my fingers, pattering on the floor, but I stumbled to the bathroom door, ignored the sting in my fingers, and turned the knob.

I carefully ran my hands under cool water and splashed my face. Cooled down, I cupped my hands and brought water to my lips, and finally rid myself of the lump. But still, it lurked in my mind—disturbing, twisted images and instances. Memories and thoughts fused together—some things I'd never seen before. But there was one thing that stuck with me, one thing I couldn't think about because then they would pierce me, take me over, and I would remember the words he'd said.

Those eyes. Familiar, but taken over. Possessed. Not golden. Yellow. Now I knew there was truly a difference between the two. A wicked, clouded yellow.

I shook it away. I placed my palms flat against the cool counter surrounding the bowl of the sink, trying to ground myself in reality. My nightmare was nothing. Nothing at all.

My heart continued to pump fast and hard in my chest, beating my ribcage.

There was a loud, forceful knock on the door. I hadn't realized I had locked it. "Sammy! C'mon, get your candy-ass out here." Dean paused, and I hesitated before deciding upon an answer. However, he cut me off, "I swear, those jeans don't make you look fat."

"It's not Sam," I replied. I leaned against the door and sighed, pressing my body against it and just shriveling. I felt the urge to cry sweep over me.

He replied. I didn't listen.

I'd never see again. Renee, Phil, Sam, Dean, the supportive people at the police station, my friends that had abandoned me, and everyone else—nothing. It was this. This stupid blackness. My fists balled and I was unable to suppress a whimper at the pain of my nails. I'd shredded them in my haste to open my door. I had been caught in a horrible frenzy, but now my muscles relaxed, my heart slowed, and my tears began to trickle from the cage I'd put them in. A crushing despair came over me, like a forceful hand wrapping around my ribcage, squeezing…squeezing until I was gasping for breath, sobbing.

I slid against the door, my legs giving beneath me. Like used tissue I crumpled, and I wrapped my limbs around my torso, around each other, and curled in until I was as small as possible. My whole body shook and I just sat, opening and closing my eyes, seeing the same amount of darkness, the same amount of nothing, the same amount of despair.

It started in small waves, like the one time I saw the ocean—they lapped at my toes, then grew, shoving at my legs and thighs, before suddenly swelling over my head and pulling me under, pushing me deeper until I couldn't fight it anymore. The realization worked the same—the weight, the sudden clarity in all of my darkness. This was _it_. I would never again see the glow of the sun, the gloom of the night, the blur of dawn and the haze of dusk. Animals, people, sites, cities, states, cars, trees—blackness. All I had was blackness.

"Aw, c'mon sweet-cheeks, don't you do that…" his voice was soft on the other side of the door, sincere, and like a switch, my tears were gone and my breathing was regulated. My thoughts cleared, my weight was lessened, and I stood on shaky legs.

Hastily swiping my tears away, I unlocked and opened the door, slumping against it, opening my eyes and gazing in the direction of his voice. "You look…"

"Horrible, I know," I replied, measuring out my sarcasm and exasperation in my words. I ignored the itch on the side of my nose. "It doesn't really matter anyway," I added, sighing. I heard him suck in a breath, hoping to continue, but I decided to simply cut him off. The nightmare was still running rampant in the back of my mind, and it was hard to focus as it was. "Bathroom is open though. Could you help me down the stairs, please?" My voice was a calm, even tone, although I let out a shaky gasp, revealing my earlier crying—but he already knew, and I honestly didn't hope to hide it. I didn't care.

"Yeah, gimme your hand," he replied absently, as if his mind was elsewhere. I searched the air for him—I brushed fabric, but my heart jumped as his hand quickly snatched mine from the air, bringing it upward and tilting it. "What the hell happened to your nails?"

I hesitated, the words and descriptions rising in my throat, followed by another round of sobs, but I swallowed everything and settled the thoughts and memories of the nightmare. "…nothing," I replied. "It was nothing."

"Sure doesn't look like nothing," he insisted, but he obediently led me to the right, toward the stairs.

"Well it is," I snapped. My hair tickled my neck, and I brushed it back.

"Oh-kay," he responded. "Well then. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." He slowly tugged my hand, alerting me to the drop of a stair. I winced, pain bolting up my arm through my sore, barely-there fingernails. In the end, I knew that my reaction to the nightmare was stupid, overly dramatic—but it had been so real, so vivid, so _haunting…_ I had felt the need to run, and my door refused to open, and in desperation I'd gone crazy.

He led me down the rest of the stairs, and we turned left, then left again, and I recognized the chilled linoleum tiles of the kitchen beneath my feet. I heard a chair scrape the floor, and he pressed my shoulder lightly. I fell into the chair.

"Here, lemme look," he took my hands and set them on the table. "Got a first aid kit or something?"

"On top of the refrigerator," I responded automatically. I stocked that as often as groceries. Apparently my clumsiness came from the paternal side of the family.

I swallowed the lump as it fought its way back into my throat. Thankfully, I won. My nose itched, but I didn't scratch it.

The chair sighed beneath him, and the box clicked. My injured nails stung, my toes curled and I flinched—I tried to snatch my hands back, away from the pain, but he gripped my wrists.

"What the hell?" I hissed.

"Dude, you've got splinters up there. Thought I'd help you out."

I sighed, the burn lessening, my anger dissipating. "Thanks."

I remembered then that he had thought Sam was in the bathroom. So where was he? "Hey, where's Sam?"

"I don't know, actually," he replied as he continued picking at my nails—or lack thereof. "I was looking for him when I found you and you were…you know…freakin' out."

I managed a meager smile. "That's a nice way to put it."

The door slammed suddenly. "Sammy?" Dean called questioningly, still working on my nails. I sighed, my heart giving a belated jump at the sudden noise.

"Yeah," was the response. I heard Sam's heavy footsteps as he walked into the kitchen, changing from the muted thump of carpet to the click of tile. "What happened?"

"Nothin'," Dean replied easily, nonchalantly, dabbing at my nails with what I could figure was water or more peroxide. "What's up?"

"Well," a chair scraped against the floor, interrupting Sam as he began to speak, settling himself down into said chair before beginning his story, "I went to the library and saw this." There was the rustle of paper, and Dean stopped for a moment.

"Local bear attacks? Dating back to…a few months ago," Dean paraphrased. I figured it was the local newspaper Sam had handed him.

"That and…this…" Something thumped onto the table, and there was no more noise as Dean flipped through the pages.

"So this is what you think Dad was hunting? This…ah…bear?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Most of the killings have been toward the north-west of here, deep in the forest near Seattle. Usually stray hikers."

"Dad did always like hunting the nasty ones," Dean chuckled. "Damn bears."

Dean's hands came back to mine, and there was a moment's silence as he wrapped sticky band-aids around them. "There ya go. Good as new," Dean told me happily.

"Dean, maybe we should check this out," Sam said pointedly.

"Yeah, sure, just lemme…"

I rudely interrupted. I didn't want to be here alone, and I figured since they were doing so much for me, I could do something for them. The day before, when Sam had brought home dinner, I had continually questioned why they were doing so much when I wasn't repaying them in the slightest. Both had continually insisted that allowing them to live here free of charge was all the help they needed after they had 'screwed me up so badly'. But still, I couldn't help but feel useless either way.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I had gone with Charlie on a hunting trip once, as well as been on various trips to the woods with _him_. I could barely remember anything about it, and not having my sight was definitely a set-back, but I hoped there was something I would be able to do for them. Truthfully, I knew my reasons for wanting to help were more selfish than generous, as if I was here alone I tended to get caught up in my depression, which seemed to be ten times worse now that I was blind. But if they could give me a task—any task—I might be able to distract myself, keep myself busy enough that I simply wouldn't have time for emotions or memories or anything damaging.

Dean and Sam's presence, and occasional carefree banter, had led me to realize that I was tired of sulking. The only thing was that it had somehow become my natural way—if left to my own devices it was my resort. My thoughts couldn't stay positive anymore, it was like a physical impossibility. I wanted to change that, to become a normal person.

I figured that the accident had snapped me into alertness. Now that I was aware of myself and my situation, I could look back on my time with Charlie, however painful, and realize what I had done to him. He had _died_ because of me. No one would admit it, but I knew it to be the truth. Had I not been digressing into a worse state of catatonia by the day, he wouldn't have been as reckless or daring. But his only daughter fell apart before his eyes, day by day, not caring how it affected him. So I assumed because of my atrocious behavior, he had stopped caring as well.

And now he was gone. And I knew that somehow I needed to make it up to him as much as possible. While I could never fully rectify my actions, I had a feeling that he would want to see me be a happy, normal person. I knew happy was out of my reach, but I wanted to be normal for his sake. I did his memory no justice by locking myself away in his room and sobbing my eyes out. While it was all I wanted to do, I had the feeling that Charlie was somewhere, watching me, and feeling nothing but disappointment.

I didn't know why it had taken the accident or the arrival of the brothers who were currently just across from me to make me realize all this, but it had. And now I had startling clarity over my situation, over my faults. My mother had stopped talking to me because she had finally given up when I wouldn't write her back. She was wasting her time. Charlie had lost numerous hours of sleep and plenty of sanity because of me and how I was acting. They were both gone because I had been so selfishly caught in my own pain.

And I would revert to that state again if these boys weren't willing to distract me. I wasn't sure what it was about them, but they kept the depression and consequent tears at bay. So if there was any way they could enlist my help I would gladly do whatever they wanted me to.

"Um…" Sam paused, apparently trying to think of some way to make me useful to them. Truthfully, I couldn't think of anything either.

"Sure, sweet-cheeks," Dean said, his chair moving as he stepped away from the table. I heard the first aid box clang shut. "You can, uh, keep us company on the drive. I'll go ahead and leave the car running for you while we look around. Set traps and whatnot."

I gave him my largest, most genuine smile, trying to convey my thanks for his generous offer. I put my hand out, which I felt Sam take. I wasn't sure how, but I could always tell Dean's hands apart from Sam's, though they were nearly identical. Rough, wide, calloused. But Dean's were indescribably warmer.

"Sounds good," I replied as he let go, after my insistence the night before that unless stairs or unfamiliar terrain was an issue, I would rather tackle walking on my own. Deep down, I felt a little less useless at being able to walk around the first floor of my house alone, though I almost constantly tripped over and ran into things. Still, I knew it was better this way than being led like a dog on a leash.

It didn't take long to get to the car, but Dean was driving and it took me a small forever to correctly align my seatbelt and click it into place. Just as I finally mastered it, Dean turned down the music—which I could only recognize as Metallica—and spoke. "So, Bella. Sam here is a _huge_ myth and legend buff. Got any neat local stories?" I detected a smile in his voice.

I tried to shrug it off. "Nothing really. It's pretty boring." They didn't know, did they? Paranoia crept into my throat.

"Nah, you kidding? Sammy here would love to hear it. You'd make his day."

While it confused me, as Sam's strange interests were beginning to add up, I figured I had nothing to lose. There were some things I couldn't tell them, but other parts of what I'd learned from Jacob all that time ago were not as bad as others.

"There is this one legend…it's this big thing in La Push," I gestured vaguely toward the direction I guessed La Push was in.

"La Push?" Sam asked curiously.

I chuckled slightly, as his reaction to my words reminded me of that day when I had been as confused about the name as he was. "The reservation just to the east."

"Ah," he said, and I could tell he was urging me to continue.

"Well, supposedly they were descended from wolves…as in, they still have some wolf genes in them or something." I tried to remember all Jacob had said, but admittedly I was less focused on the Quileute part of the story. "They guard their land from their one natural enemy." I tried to stop there, but I knew the hope they wouldn't pursue my obvious open end was in vain.

"Enemy?"

"The cold ones," I nodded soberly, trying to smile and act as if I believed it was simply a legend. "Um…vampires." The word sent pangs through my heart, like I was slowly being electrocuted.

"Vampires," Dean echoed.

"Yeah," I tried to laugh, to bring myself to the present where I still had the role of the uninformed disbelieving girl to play. I couldn't reveal anything. "Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, how weird."

"But that's…the story. All that I know, anyway." I hoped this closed the discussion.

"So Bella…who told you all this?"

I remembered my hesitant flirting with Jacob in hopes of receiving the information I needed. He had been reluctant at first, but his puppy eyes had brightened at my insistent urging, and finally he had broken down and told me.

"A uh, friend of mine," I paused, clearing my throat and scratching at my elbow. "Well, his dad was like…like family to my dad. We met through them."

"Does he have an address?"

I felt that that was going slightly too far, as I couldn't reveal other people's personal information. And yet, at the same time, I didn't want to be rude. "Yeah, but I don't know it." It was the truth, but before I could stop myself, I continued, "Billy—his dad—did give me his phone number. In case I needed help with…anything. I haven't called them yet."

The car swerved violently, and I gripped the leather as best I could as my heart lurched into my throat.

"Well then," Dean said nonchalantly, as if he wasn't driving like a maniac. The car straightened, and I righted myself, my breath coming in quick gasps. I wanted to yell out my question of what all that was about, but I held my tongue. "Looks like we're gonna have to make a phone call."


	8. Twilight - 8

**_Oh my. I'm going to be honest. I totally forgot about this story and how much I loved it. So to make a comeback, I typed up a long chapter with some interesting characters thrown in. The plot thickens._**

**_Sorry for any continuity errors, by the way. I've forgotten a lot of where I was going with this one so you'll have to bear with me and if possible, point out anything particularly wrong. Thanks for the patience, guys, you're the best!_**

**_By the way, I like the idea of a Doctor Who/Twilight crossover. That's actually what got me writing again. Although I couldn't do it myself, I'd pay money to see a 10/Bella story. God, I'd be so happy! :P_**

**_Alright well. Nothing more to say here. Enjoy, I hope!_**

All I could hear was the tap of Sam's fingers on the table and the faint ringing on the other end of the line. It took a while for me to get an answer, but when I did, it was a voice too gruff to be Jacob's.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Billy," I said, shifting back against the cool countertop. I scratched absently at my neck, feeling uneasy as the weight of the Sam's gaze fell onto me. His tapping stopped.

"Oh, Bella," Billy replied. I knew he wasn't happy with me because of my association with the Cullens, and he'd made that apparent at every opportunity he could barring my father's funeral, but his tone seemed even more upset than usual. I didn't normally like to question it, however, so I pressed on.

"Is Jacob there? Can I talk to him?" I asked politely. I got a sudden chill from the open kitchen window, so I gestured to Sam, hoping he would shut it. The light tap of heavy boots on the floor and the clink of the window lock confirmed that he had.

The pause on the other end was a long one, and the response was comparably short, "No."

I hesitated. "No, he's not there?"

"He is," Billy said, his voice cold and hard, like ice. I waited for him to elaborate, but he stood his ground, resolutely silent.

"Um…well then can I talk to him?"

"No," he repeated. I scratched my nails against the counter as frustration welled inside my chest.

"Why not?" I asked, struggling to keep my impatience out of my tone.

"He's sick. Real bad. I'll have to call you later, when he's better. Bye." And then the click of the receiver sounded. I kept the phone to my ear in disbelief, half expecting Jake to get on the line and say, "Sike!"

When the dial tone began its monotonous beep in my ear, I finally accepted that wasn't going to happen and clicked it clumsily back onto the receiver. I made a shaky path to the open chair near Sam, who politely waited for me to situate myself across from him before asking any questions. "So?"

"He's…he's sick. Billy wouldn't talk to me. We'll have to call again later, I guess," I replied. I was still shocked by the whole conversation. Billy's almost aggressive tone rang in my mind. A nasty taste formed in my mouth as I thought it over—not just the usual anger at me for disobeying, but there was something else, as if he was hiding something. My short time with my second family, who had always tried to talk over my head about nearly anything, allowed me to pick up on it easily when I was familiar with him as it was.

"Oh. Well, maybe we could—" conveniently cutting Sam off, the front door opened and closed. The paper bag of a fast food place rustled, and Dean called a muffled greeting around a full mouth. His steps were light, so I figured everything had gone well.

In the mail, I'd received a letter from Doctor Gerandy about a two hour, two week class, with classes five days a week. It would teach me things from using my cane—which currently rested unused on my dresser upstairs, because even I had an ounce of pride that would not be quashed; and plenty of denial as well—to reading braille. It was a quick crash course, meant for people like me, stuck in the in-between stage and unsure of where to go for formal education on these things. It was perfect, but it was terrible at the same time. I was worried that somehow the moment I started learning to cope with my new condition would be the moment it would become even more irrevocable than it already was. Yet still, I knew I had to take the class.

Sam had read it to me and said that the classes were free, done in a volunteer's home down the block from me. Dean had been eager to sign me up, and I could only guess that it was a step toward making me independent and, by extension, freeing him from his self-induced nanny job. It wasn't like I blamed him for wanting to leave, but I couldn't understand what made him stay in the first place when I assured him over and over again that there was no need for all this. I dropped the charges against them and dished out extra money in order to have his case completely abandoned. He was scott-free and able to leave, yet he stayed.

Now, he was back from the registration process for the class, whistling a bright tune as he crumpled the paper bag and presumably threw it away. I flinched as the edge of his jacket brushed me on his way to a chair.

"How'd that call go?" he asked, his question directed more toward Sam.

"It was a no-go. Kid's sick," Sam replied, frustration evident in his voice as it had been in mine. "Did it go okay with Bella's class?"

"Yep," Dean chirped, seeming unaffected by the news of Jacob's silence. "She's signed up to start tomorrow."

"Did you stop by the forest at all?"

"Nah," Dean replied, making the chair groan as he shifted positions. The linoleum scratched under his boots. "Didn't bother. Figured I'd come get you to do that. See, thing is, I heard some interesting talk."

"Talk?" Sam echoed.

"About the bear attacks being something different," Dean continued. I tensed, clenching my fists. I had been able to guess that something more was going on when these reports had been making headlines at an alarming rate, but had someone else guessed that too? Did Dean and Sam know, somehow, about everything? My heart ripped a jagged rhythm in my chest.

"Different…?" Sam urged.

"People haven't seen hide nor hair of a bear. However, the gutsy ones that go lookin' for trouble swear they've seen wolves."

"Wolves," Sam repeated, voice flat. "Because that's uncommon, I'm sure."

"Wolves the size of buses are," Dean countered, triumph in his voice.

"_Buses_?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Buses," Dean confirmed.

Sam was silent. Finally, he said, "Well, this is gonna be an interesting one, huh?"

"You bet your sweet ass," Dean said jokingly. I felt his warm hand on mine as he stretched it out, palm up, and set something warm and wrapped in paper in it. "Here, picked you up a burger." I thanked him quietly, and a beat of silence followed.

"So you guys are hunting this thing, then?" I asked as I carefully unwrapped the greasy treat I'd been given. My stomach growled ravenously at the smell.

"Yeah," Dean replied, mouth no longer full. I took a small bite of the burger, making the juices flow out and sting my injured fingers, but the taste overrode all else and I took a larger bite. "Something to do while we're here, ya know?"

"You can—" I began, about to launch into the rant he'd heard plenty of times about how I would be fine on my own and they could go ahead and leave. I would tell him that his obligation was unfounded, and that mistakes happened, and then I would tell him to go find his father because you never know how much time you have with them until you've wasted all of it.

"I won't," he said forcefully, cutting me off before I could start. I paused and took another bite, shrugging lightly. Though his refusal to let me be as I was and just leave frustrated me, there was a part of me that was grateful at the same time. I had no idea how much this loneliness I'd been living with would be multiplied when they were gone and I couldn't even _see._

"Well, wolves, huh," Sam said, diverting us from the worn out topic. "Weird. Weren't we talking about wolves earlier?"

I nodded, "Yeah, the Quileutes revere them. They aren't allowed to kill them and stuff."

"Didn't you say something else though? How they descended from them and have their genes?" Sam pressed eagerly. _Really is a mythology buff, I guess._

I took a bite and swallowed. "Well. I don't know the technicalities or anything but basically that, yeah. I could have asked Jake, but he's sick…"

"Does anyone else know about the legends, or is it just him?" It was Dean who asked this time.

I shrugged in response. "He heard them from his dad. I think all the older ones know. You know, the council of elders."

"Hmm," Sam hummed. I heard the grate of his chair as he stood. His jacket rustled. "Ready, Dean?"

"What? You didn't even touch your burger!"

"C'mon, I'll eat it later. Here, I'll put it away," he placated, paper rippling as he picked it up.

I suddenly felt sick. The idea of being alone in this house was a terrible one, but at the same time I had no desire to leave. I wrapped my half eaten burger. "Could you put mine away, too?"

Sam hesitated. "You're done already? You barely took four bites."

I shrugged. "I'm kinda tired, actually." It wasn't a lie. My medication had an array of unpleasant side effects, the worst of which being a drowsiness I was barely able to shake off in the day. However, as night had begun to fall, it only got worse. I'd been fine when I allowed the brothers to occupy me, but with their absence, I was hoping to sleep as soon as possible.

"Alright, I'll take you upstairs," Sam offered.

"That'd be great," I said, smiling as much as I could.

"Oh, before ya go!" Dean began. Leather brushed leather and there was the click of plastic as he touched something cold to my arm. I reached for it. "I got you these," he said as I wrapped my hand around the object. It took me a moment to identify it as glasses. Sunglasses, I knew.

I wasn't sure if I was grateful or angered. Not at Dean directly, but at yet another piece of solid proof. I wanted to throw these foul things across the room and stomp on them. However, I controlled myself into a small smile and flicked them open, clumsily putting them onto my eyes. "My style?" I asked, hoping to replicate the light sarcasm the boys' so easily used from day to day.

"Oh yeah," they both chimed.

* * *

Waking up the next day, I felt delirious. My alarm was blaring at me and my head was beating a rhythm in tune to the electronic buzzes. I slammed my hand repeatedly on the desk until I finally pinpointed the off button's location. A relieved sigh slipped through at the sudden, welcome silence that engulfed the room.

Someone interrupted this silence by knocking. "Want me to drive you to that class, Bella?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," I rasped back. I paused and cleared my throat. "Yeah, um, lemme get dressed."

"Sure, I'll be downstairs."

"Thank you."

I laid on my bed a moment longer, arms and legs outstretched like a starfish. Sunlight was magnified through my window, allowing a patch of sweet warmth to rest upon my belly, exposed by my incessant tossing and turning in the night. I was lucky, however, to be unable to recall my nightmare.

I put action to words as I felt the drowsiness trying to take over again. I forced myself to shakily make my way to my closet. I was lucky enough to be a simple person when it came to clothes, because a simple jean and t-shirt combo made it really hard to walk out and look like a fool because I couldn't tell what I was dressing myself in.

I dared myself to make it to the top of the stairs on my own, slipping my feet lightly on the floor and holding onto the wall for dear life. "I'm ready," I called to Sam as I hovered on the edge of the top step.

"Alright," he said as he took the stairs quickly. _He must take two at a time or something_. "Let's go," he continued, taking my hand and leading me down at a considerably slower pace.

The car ride was short, partially because I was half asleep and partially because I was almost positive Sam and Dean shared the extremely fast driving trait. When he was opening my door, I felt my stomach sink into my shoes.

He sensed the change as I gripped his hand tighter. He led me up the curb and a few stairs. "You'll be fine, Bella. Trust me. These people just want to help you. They all have problems of their own, too." There was a slight sympathetic tone to his voice that felt almost patronizing, but I knew I was just grumpy and nervous. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and smiled back as demurely as possible.

"Thanks, Sam," I replied as he knocked on the door.

It opened and the tang of perfume tasted sour in the air. "Oh, is this Isabella?" There was a large smile in the woman's voice.

"Just Bella," I replied.

"Hello then, 'Just Bella'," she laughed. After a moment, she sobered. "Don't you have a cane?"

"Yeah," I replied, instantly disliking this woman's cheery demeanor.

"Did you forget it today? Oh, that's fine, we'll show you that some other time. We're working on braille now, actually! I'll put you in the beginner's group, sound good?"

"That's fine," I replied as Sam silently transferred my hand to hers. Her hand was chilly and damp, as if she was in a cold sweat, and her nails felt like shiny talons. I couldn't help but dislike her, although I knew I was being harsh. She represented this whole class in a person, and I hated it all.

There was a step up into the house, and my sneakers easily slipped on the floor. "Watch out," she warned lightly. "I polished the linoleum today. Isn't it beautiful?" There was an awkward pause. "Oh, um, right. Sorry, I'm new to this volunteer thing—I work with visually impaired, but never blind. Well, until now, of course!" She was peppy, and I had sudden déjà vu of my first time in Forks when Jessica had tried to sink her claws into me.

"I'll see you later, Bella. Be here to pick you up in two hours," Sam said awkwardly.

"Okay," I replied to his retreating steps. The door shut with finality and the woman led me through two left turns into a room with low chattering.

"Here we are! Hey guys, this is Bella, the newest friend! Everyone say hello!"

The word was murmured quietly. I felt hopeless in this room.

"Alright Bella," the woman said, focusing on me now. "I'm Cindy! Like I said, we're going to put you in the beginner's group—which is you and Cassie, actually. She's not a beginner, though—well, she is, here, but she knows all we have to offer! Oh, um, I'll let you ask her about that, actually."

I felt frustration and confusion bubbling inside me. So I'll be working with a girl who knows everything while I know nothing? I could only hope she was nothing like this woman—Cindy. Maybe she could teach me everything in one class and I'd never have to come again.

"But I'm putting you with her because you're so new, so she can catch you up because she's been blind since she was small. Also, you're our only teenage girls, so—"

"I'm eighteen," I snipped quickly.

She sighed, absolutely quiet for a moment, stopping our slow progress across the room. "I know, but everyone else around here is sixty and up. They've gone blind because of age, not an accident. I just want you to have a pleasant experience here, Bella." Her pep was gone and her patience was a lot thinner. A sudden swell of regret for my attitude took hold in my chest, and I truly felt bad for being such an ass to a woman who volunteered hours of her day for people like me.

"You're…you're right. Thank you," I responded.

"Oh, it's no problem, Bella!" she continued, voice back to normal and her stride even more bouncy. "Here we are! Hey, Cassie. This is Bella! The girl that man was signing up for yesterday. She's with you!"

"Great," was the quiet, sarcastic response. Cindy kindly sat me down on a chair.

"Here ya go Bella. I'm gonna go check on Ms. Peterson—she looks like she needs a little help finding her cane!" Cindy chirped in my ear before click-clicking away.

"Hello there, Bella," the girl to my left said. I turned in her general direction. "I'm Cassie. Welcome to Hell."

"Hey," I replied awkwardly. I picked at my thumbnail. "Um…it's not that bad, is it?"

"It is for me," was her gruff reply. I paused a moment, wondering why it might be particularly horrible for her. Then I remembered that she knew everything Cindy could possibly try to tell her.

"Because you've been…this way…for so long, so you know everything?" I queried quietly, hoping to not invoke the anger that was obviously boiling beneath the surface.

Apparently, my efforts did no good. The girl exploded, her tone not particularly loud, but more of a forceful, rasping whisper. "Exactly! How dare they send me to a place like this? I mean from Dad this is no surprise, but Jay? How could he let me come here like some little retard who doesn't know how to read braille properly or use her cane? I've been like this all my life and I've been to so many of these things—just when I think I'm done I screw up once and all of the sudden here I am. How dare they?" She stopped, huffing with anger, about to go again when her breath caught as she realized she'd just said so much. I was reminded of a scene from a movie I'd seen before—I couldn't remember the name, but it was about a girl from Africa coming to a new school and getting caught up in foreign teenage drama. Cassie had just 'word-vomited'.

"I'm sorry," she rushed out, her voice sincere. "I didn't mean to say that much—it's just—yeah. Yeah, I hate learning all of this over and over again."

I hesitated again, unsure of what to say. Once again, I got an unpleasant sense of déjà vu as I remembered my old second family's aversion to high school because of the sheer amount of times they'd attended. I mentally swiped the thoughts away. "So…why did they make you come here?" I wasn't sure who 'they' was, although I'd caught Jay and Dad. Maybe a step mom?

"My Dad always does this. Ever since I got expelled again, he sent be to as many classes as possible to get rid of me for as long as he can." Her voice was honest, but more closed off, so I said no more as Cindy began speaking to all of the 'class'.

Braille was a hard thing to master. As we went, Cassie and Cindy would alternate, trying to show me in their own ways—which were total opposites from each other, making everything only more frustrating—how to do it. But I'd always put my finger in the wrong spot or skip a dot or something. It was frustrating and I was ready to chuck my exercise book across the room.

"So what do you look like?" Cassie asked, taking my thoughts away from ripping the pages out of the book one by one and stomping on them. "Normally I feel your face but you don't sound very happy, so I'm not gonna push my luck. I want to keep my fingers."

I chuckled darkly. "Um. Well, brown hair, average features. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. Over all, really boring," I replied distractedly, dragging my finger over a sentence that had something to do with a cat, a car, and fish.

"Ah. Yep, pretty boring," she responded absently. Her elbow brushed mine as she 'read'.

"How about you?" I asked back.

"Dyed black hair. I'm not sure what color my eyes are—they're cloudy grey now, but I think they used to be brown. Black clothes. I'm the goth chick. Even more outcast with the whole running into walls thing."

"You still run into walls?" I choked. If she'd been blind for so long and still had problems navigating, I was as good as dead!

"No," she laughed. "That's a joke, Bella. It's something normal people make. Well—about as normal as we get, I guess."

I sighed in response. Maybe there was hope. She seemed unaffected by her actual condition, anyway—but she knew no better, so I had no real hope for myself.

"Alright!" Cindy's peppy voice cut through the air. "Time to go! I'll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?"

There were murmurs and the creaking of chairs in reply. I heard Cassie shut her book, so I did the same. Shakily, I stood. I turned to her, ready to ask where she lived and how she got there, when Cindy walked loudly over to us. "Cassie," she said. "I'd like to speak to you. Tomorrow's your last class with us, right?"

"Right," the girl replied warily.

"Very good," Cindy said, her voice sounding almost pleased. I supposed someone as happy as her had a hard time dealing with Cassie's constant cynicism, so I couldn't blame her for being happy about that. I, however, liked Cassie. The air with her was comfortable, barring the tension I felt from all the failed braille reading.

"You can go, Bella. I'll meet you outside." Cassie said to me. I muttered a reply, curious as to what was going to be said, but nevertheless made a shaky exit, following the slow steps of the elderly in front of me out into the hall and the door.

I sat myself on the bottom step of the porch, waiting for one of the brothers to shout to me that they were here, when Cassie came out. I recognized the strong stomp of her boots and the metallic swish of the tutu she'd told me she loved and wore daily. "Hey," she said, sitting down near me.

"So what was that all about?" I asked quietly.

"Oh, uh…" she hesitated. Something in her voice was different. "Yeah, nothing. Cindy was just excited to get rid of me…hey, you're pretty cool, you know that?" she continued quickly, changing the subject.

"Thanks," I replied, smiling at her although I knew she didn't see it.

"Here," she said, and I heard her digging in the bag she'd told me she takes everywhere. Paper crumpled and a pen scribbled. She stuck something in my hand. "That's my number. Have someone read it to you, okay? And give me yours. Maybe we can…hang out sometime."

Although I'd just met her, the idea of hanging out with a girl in my predicament was so appealing that I took the offered pen and tried to make my numbers as neat as I possibly could without seeing them. Just as I was telling her to call me tomorrow to make plans, I heard my name. "Bella! We're here!"

"See you later, Cassie. Have a good night!" I said happily. I'd made a friend, a blind one at that, and it felt amazing.

"Yeah…yeah, see ya."


	9. Twilight - 9

**_I'm sick. I can't write. I needed to get to this point in the story before it began to drag on. I thank you all for your kind reviews and faith. Hope you like it despite my absolute hatred for this chapter. Damn you, Bella, and your terrible trust in people! You make dumb, extremely hard to write decisions!_**

I could do this.

I wasn't sure what was holding me back and making my heart beat hard in my chest. The boys were gone—where to, I wasn't very sure, but that left me alone and without anything to do. I'd had Dean read me the number over and over until I'd memorized it for this moment. I had nothing to do but turn back to my memories now that the guys were gone, so instead I'd asked them to take me to the phone and help me learn the number. Maybe I'd just talk—maybe plans would be made. But I had to try. She would be the only person who could ever understand.

I knew that it was probably too soon, but I'd told her I'd call her as we left the class today. Cassie had seemed off—although I'd known her two days total, her silence throughout the whole braille lesson seemed completely uncharacteristic for her. I'd tried multiple times to lighten the mood or ask what was bothering her, but each time was rebuffed with a, "Sorry, Bella. I've just got a lot on my mind right now. I'll tell you a different time."

Right now was most definitely a different time, right? I wanted to hang up the receiver and hobble into the living room to listen to the television—which I kept on if the boys weren't home so I didn't have to deal with all of that pressing _silence_—but I didn't want to do that at the same time. I wanted to be the opposite of what I had been before. I wanted to change while I had the chance.

I fumbled with the numbers. It took a few minutes for me to tell which was which. There were a couple failed tries where I got disconnected or nonexistent numbers. But finally, there was ringing. Although I was mostly convinced it would be the wrong number, I held my breath all the same.

"Hello?" asked a gruff, male voice. _Damn. Wrong number again. Of course!_

With nothing else to say, I ventured that maybe it was someone else in her house. "Hi, is Cassie there? This is Bella, from her class…"

"Bella, huh?" the voice echoed. "Yeah, sure. One sec." I heard him call for Cassie and receive a muffled reply. The phone jostled as he, presumably, set it down. As I waited for my friend, my heart thumped out a jagged rhythm at a rapid pace. _Why am I so nervous? Sure, I don't have much experience with people, but still, this is ridiculous! It's just Cassie, right?_

It was that moment that I realized I barely knew the girl. She seemed to like me—she'd even made an offhand comment about me being a very trustable person—but I'd just met her. So why did her opinion of me matter so much? I couldn't fathom that I was so easily attached to people, but that was the only answer. _What have I become?_

"Bella?" she sounded older over the phone.

"Hey, Cas," I said, hoping she didn't hate my random nickname.

"What's up?" she asked. Her voice was strangely neutral.

"Nothing, really. I just wanted to call and see how you were…you seemed down, today," I replied lightly, hoping this would make her talk more. I didn't want this conversation to end too quickly. It was supposed to occupy me while the brothers were out doing whatever.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Well, as fine as it gets around here, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "I can't really tell you…not right here, anyway. Give me a second while I go outside."

I waited, listening to the random bits of static on the phone as she moved. Finally, I heard her voice again. "Okay. So, how well do you keep secrets, Bella?"

_You have no idea._ "Pretty well, I suppose. Why, do you need to tell me something?"

"You have to swear not to repeat it. I mean, I've told plenty people before, so I can usually tell who will and who won't say anything—but I just gotta make sure, because you never know."

"I promise," I replied warily. What was so secretive about this girl?

"Even if you think it would be best to tell someone else. You still have to promise me you won't," she continued. She was whispering in a grave voice, her tone urgent and imploring. I was beginning to get worried.

"Okay, I promise, Cas."

"Alright," she confirmed. She took a breath. "How about horror stories? You good with those?"

_If only you knew._ "Yeah, they're fine."

"When I was little, my mom left my dad. She didn't take me, or my brother Jay. Dad remarried this chick—an evil bitch. She didn't like us as kids. Me or Jay. So she started to poison us, hoping we'd die quietly so she could get all of Dad's cash—he wasn't poor, ya know." She paused. She seemed calm enough, as if she'd told this story plenty of times. I, however, felt my heart breaking for her.

"Cassie—that's horrible!"

"Yeah, whatever. It's not really the worst. Anyway, Jay and I got really sick. I became blind because of the poison, and Jay developed severe short term memory loss. When Dad found out about it, he left the bitch, but the damage was done. He shoveled out so much cash for us to get better that he was pretty much broke at the end of it—with the divorce and the medical bills and whatnot."

"That's terrible," I whispered in response. In the early years of her life, this girl had been through so much. I felt ungrateful for all of my complaining. _Why is she telling me all this? I know I have a problem trusting people too easily, but her too?_

As if to answer my unspoken question, she said, "I'm telling you this because I trust you, Bella. I don't have very many friends, but you took all my crap yesterday and let me pretty much ignore you today. That's worth something. You're a good person, and I want to help you."

_How can you help me?_ I wanted to ask, but I refrained. She continued, undeterred by my silent response. "Anyway, here's the part no one can know about. My dad lost all that money and became a drunk. He resents me and Jay, but me especially—not sure why, really, but whatever. So we aren't treated very well around here—if you know what I mean."

I could only fathom, but I really didn't want to hear details. I had nothing to say, in response, so I hesitated, hoping she'd continue. "Jay's a good guy, though. Takes me where I want to go and stuff. When Dad lets us, at least. Anyway, there's something I want to do today. Something…well, daring. Every played in black magic, Bella?" she asked, her tone morphing from neutral to mischievous.

I didn't know what to make of it. I'd just met the girl, and all of this had come out at such a rapid pace…I decided not to dwell on it, and instead take it as it was—an offer to hang out. I thought about what "black magic" might mean. "My dad has a Ouija board in the hall closet, if that's what you mean."

"No, that's dumb," she responded. "I've got something that—well, I don't know, it might help us. Do you want help, Bella? Because I want help," her tone was pleading, as if she would be crushed if I didn't give in. Teenagers were known for sneaking into haunted houses and doing séances for fun anyway—especially people like Cassie, self-described "goth" kids. I didn't have a problem obliging her with something so harmless and possibly fun. My recently discovered itch for adventure ignited in my chest.

"Yeah, I want help," I responded, humoring her.

"How about tonight? I've got everything you and I will need. You just need to bring your I.D. Sound good?"

The brothers often made nights of their hunting trips. I was sure I could be back from our little dance on the wild side before they returned. Something urged me to respond with a yes, and that's exactly what I did.

"Great! Jay will take me there. What's your address? He's really good with streets and stuff."

I gave it to her with a smile, and she promised me no more than a twenty minute wait. She said that today would be life-changing, and I knew that it would. If I bonded enough with Cassie, I might walk away from this day with a friend, and I was willing to do anything for that.

I waited on the couch nearest to the door for Cassie to show up. I rotated my I.D. in my hands, nervous about my first time hanging with an actual teenager in a _long_ time. Not to mention, I had no idea what we were going to be doing.

Whatever it was, it sounded exciting.

I jumped at a knock at the door, my breath catching as I responded with, "Coming!" I shakily stood and made my way to the door, tripping twice on my effort to get there quickly. I fumbled with the knob.

"Bella?" Cassie said as I creaked the door open.

"Yep, I'm here."

"You ready to go? Got your license?"

"Yeah, I am. What are we going to be doing?" I asked as a warm, male hand took mine.

"Nothing real big," she responded vaguely. "Oh, this is Jay. Jay, this is Bella."

"Hey, Bella," a man replied. I could tell he was older by his voice, but I couldn't tell how much older. I suddenly felt trepidation shooting down my spine, giving me chills. I didn't really know these people—Cassie was one thing, but who was this Jay? How could I trust him, or her word that he was a nice guy, unlike her father? I wanted to turn around, but I knew I'd made my bed at this point, and he'd already led me halfway down my driveway.

A car door opened, and he gently put me inside. "Can ya scoot over, Bella? I'm gonna get in the back, with you."

"Sure," I responded as Cassie did just that.

When we'd gotten settled and the car began to move, I turned to Cassie. "So, what's going on?"

"Nothing really," she reiterated, her answer equally as vague as it had been before. "Oh, can I see your I.D.? Does it have a picture of you on it?"

"Yeah, it does," I responded, reaching forward until I touched the card to what felt like her forearm. A warm hand took mine and led it to the box, where she instructed me to drop the I.D.

"You don't need this anymore, right? I mean, it's not valid since you can't see now, so you gotta get a new one anyway…" she trailed off briefly, as if contemplating something.

"I guess not," I replied. Something seemed off, all of the sudden, and I cursed myself inwardly. _In the car with strangers. So much for self-preservation, Bella. Now what? I don't even have my I.D. anymore._

And I couldn't even bring myself to be saddened by it. _They could kill me if they wanted. Bury me in the forest and move on to another victim. Can't I feel the least bit panicked, or am I just that hopeless after everything? This whole adventure started because I wanted to change. Nice try, Bella._

"Cool. Jay, are we there yet?"

"Almost…" he responded from the driver's seat. A few moments passed. "Here we go! We're here, Cassie. It's deserted, are you sure about this?"

"Positive. Grab the shovel."

_Oh god._ I felt a noise of protest in my throat as the panic I'd longed for rose in my chest. "What—what are we—?"

"No worries," Cassie said calmly, in a reassuring voice. "We aren't doing anything bad. Just trust me." _No going back now, huh, Bella? You're gonna die tonight. Just give her whatever she wants._

"Um…" I responded, unsure of how to trust her after this. Who knew what this girl was planning? Why did I go with her when I barely knew her?

_Oh god Bella. What have you done?_ Memories of my blind trust of the Cullens, of James, and of the brothers flashed through my mind. _No one is here to save me, and I'm surely not lucky enough for her to be harmless._

"I'll go first," Cassie was saying, less to me and more to herself. She pulled me from the car, and my feet landed on gravel. "Stay here, Bella. Jay, lead me to the middle."

"Okay," the boy responded. I heard their steps fade as they left me there, standing next to the running car. A chilly breeze whipped my hair into my face, and I shivered, holding myself and trying not to cry as I realized how stupid I really was. _You just met her! You just met this girl!_ ran through my head like a mantra. _How do I get out of this?_

I briefly thought of stealing the car. But I would have no idea of where I was and where I was going. That, and Jay's heavy steps were returning. "She told me to wait here. She's just down the road, so she'll call when she's done."

"Done with what?" I asked.

"I don't know," he responded honestly. "I never really know what Cassie is up to. She's a weird girl. Sorry if this freaks you out."

"Well, you know, getting in the car with strangers and all…it's my own fault, really," I tried to joke lightly about my situation and my distrust for him, which he obviously seemed to detect, and he humored me with a chuckle.

"Can't say that was smart. I'm just glad it was me driving and not Dad. Then you'd be in trouble."

"I suppose so," was my stunted response. Awkward silence stretched between us for a few moments, both unsure of what to say.

Luckily, however, his phone rang; a blaring jingle that made me flinch back against the car. "Cas, you ready?" She responded on the other end. "Okay, I'll come get you. Bring Bella? Sure."

He grabbed my hand, and time seemed to shorten as I walked with him. My knees shook, my teeth chattered, and I had no idea what was in store. All I could think was how stupid I seemed to be. As we approached Cassie, her voice was light and airy. "It worked, Jay! It's gonna work!"

"That's good, Cassie," he replied absently. "Do I do it with this one, too?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, you do! Oh, Bella, I love you! If I didn't have you here I wouldn't have the guts to do it myself—and I thought Miss Bitch was—well, a bitch! But, now, I…"

She paused, her breathing fast. "Now I get what I want."

I forced a laugh. "Is this the part where you sacrifice me?"

"No! Oh, no, Bella," she rushed, setting her hand on my arm. "This is the part where I help you."

"I'm done," Jay said from a few feet away. "You ready, Cas?"

"Yeah," Cassie replied, her voice muffling as the wind carried it away. She set something in my hands. "This is my cell. Hit the big round button to call Jay. We'll be at the car."

"Can't you stay here?" I asked quickly. My heart thumped in my chest, cold fingers gripping my ribcage like ice.

"No, it won't work that way. Just call him when you're done. Here," she said calmly, smile in her voice as she flipped open the phone and guided my thumb onto the button in the center. "Just press this when you're done."

"What do I do? Cassie, please, don't just leave," I pleaded. My heart gave a squeeze at the déjà vu I was getting.

"I won't. I'll be a block away. And you'll know what to do. She'll help you."

She let go of my arm. I reached out to grab her, keep her here, but she managed to avoid my grasp. I was frozen, stuck in place as their steps faded.

"No, oh god, I'm going to die out here, aren't I?" I moaned to the air in front of me. "She left me here with nothing, and I—"

It was at that point I remembered the phone in my hand. _Why would she give me her phone if she was leaving me to die?_ _That makes no—_

My thoughts were interrupted by a cheery, familiar voice. "Hello, Bella. Fancy seeing you here."

I gasped, turning toward her and gaping. "_Cindy_?"


	10. Twilight - 10

**_Alright guys. This is the part I've been excited about writing since this story was a little tiny idea-baby in my head. So here's where the whole blind thing has been leading up to—hope you're ready. Bam, here ya go! Enjoy babes!_**

"Kind of, I suppose," the woman purred from behind me. Her voice had changed to something lower pitched and smooth—beautiful, rivaling that of the Cullens. It lulled me, but my hammering heart and sweating palms reminded me of the fact that she hadn't been here before—_where did she come from?_

"Um—what…what are you doing here?" I stuttered stupidly back at her. She hummed a laugh, stepping on light feet around me. It was only the crackle of the gravel that allowed me to pinpoint her location as she rounded to my front.

"Poor little confused Bella. So trusting, so oblivious, so…_blind_." Her sentence was almost off-hand, but the razors in her voice with the last word cut me deep. I opened my mouth to respond but could only croak out something unintelligible.

"Leaving Arizona to appease your mother and father…trusting the Cullens—_vampires_—and letting them into your life, loving them like family. Letting them _leave_ you. Allowing yourself to sink into a figurative coma—making your father care so little that he _died_. Letting two grown men you know nothing about take care of you when you're most vulnerable, and then coming out here with two strangers who make all the wrong decisions," she paused to laugh after mocking all of my faults and errors. "Tsk tsk, Isabella. Surely you're smarter than all of that. Surely you'll learn from your mistakes—but you won't. Not _yet_, anyway."

I gulped. Tears streamed from my eyes, wetting my cheeks and pattering onto my shirt. I clenched my fists, scraping my nails into my palms in hopes to distract myself from the crushing blow that all of this reality struck. _She's right. She's right about everything. How could I be so stupid?_

"Oh, Bella. So pitiful. The little lamb," she sang, walking around to my back again. I stayed frozen in place, unable to move to face her. I was a coward.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, cold through the material of my shirt. Manicured nails dug into the skin on my collarbone, and I yelped in surprise, gritting my teeth as she brought her lips to my cheek in a kiss. They moved along my skin to my ear, brushing the shell as she spoke.

"Oh no, that's definitely not all. You see, I'm here to help you, Bella. Just as I helped Cassie. I told her all about this place, and what it enables me to do—with just a little box, no less." A fat drop of fear slipped down my spine.

"What is that?" I rasped. Her tongue drew a wet line from my jaw to my hairline and I wanted to curl into a ball and cry.

"You're so sweet, little girl. So naïve. All of this time with the Winchesters and you don't know what I am? Hmm, that's almost amusing," she continued to whisper in my ear before releasing me, shoving my shoulders and making me stumble forward. I would have fallen if she hadn't appeared in front of me again, grasping my jaw harshly and pulling my face upward. Her breath was warm and moist as it fanned onto my lips.

"I can give you anything you ask for, Bella. _Anything_."

So many things raced through my head—an unending stream of questions. But my interest quashed everything else—all the worry, the fear, the trepidation was insignificant to those words. _Anything?_

"Yes, Bella, anything. Anything at all," she continued in a small, happy lilt as if she'd read my mind. "I could bring Charlie back. I could make the Cullens return. I could make Edward love you—or better yet, make him human again. Hell, I could end world hunger. So many options—so many choices. I can do _so many_ generous things, Isabella…" she trailed off, clawed finger running a light path along my neck that made me shiver.

"But that's not what you want, Bella. Oh no. I'm not stupid—we both know what you're going to ask for. And yes, you're going to ask for something. Something selfish. Something taken from you—and it's not even Edward or Charlie. Poor, poor Charlie—died all because of you. And how do you repay him?"

I knew what she was talking about. There was one thing I wanted above all else—even above the Cullens. One thing and one thing only. I could feel my knees buckling as I thought it over, stomach churning as I imagined having it again.

Her lips were back to my ear, "_I can give you your eyes._" She confirmed what I wanted. What I'd dreamed of having. What I longed for more than all of the rest. I thought of Mom, of Charlie, of Edward, of _everything_ I could do with this one wish—but nothing topped my sight. Nothing was as valuable, as missed.

"I—" I began incredulously. Could this woman—Cindy, who I'd just met yesterday—do all of this? Surely not. She wasn't acting like herself, either. And her words '_All of this time with the Winchesters and you don't know what I am?'_ rang in my head. "What—what are you?"

"A demon, sweet Bella. My whole purpose is to give suffering little humans like Cassie, or like yourself, whatever they ask me for…of course, for a small fee."

"A fee?" I echoed blankly, mind still trying to produce the word _demon_ and come up with a fathomable match. _Demon_? I knew of vampires…but not demons. There had to be a limit to the supernatural, surely.

"Nothing in life is free, Bella. And it's nothing I'll take from you—not now, anyway. I'll come for it in…" she trailed off. Her hand squeezed my jaw tighter. "There's something about you, little girl. Something strange. You've drawn the Winchesters to you, but that's not where it ends…" she mused, her voice a mixture of curious and frustrated.

Finally, she laughed. "Oh no. My usual price won't do. Not for you, sugar."

"Price? What price?" I asked, voice muffled because of the restricted movement of my mouth. Her hand became more lax, allowing me to breathe a bit easier.

"No, no, no…not for you," she repeated, kissing my cheek lightly and breathing in my scent as Edward had done so many times. The required nostalgia was repressed by the unending fear gripping my chest like a vice.

"I can give you one year, Bella. Three hundred and sixty-five days of sight. You get to be as you were before the accident—a whole year. Or you can rot away without it for the rest of your life. Your choice."

"A year?" I echoed.

"And then your soul is mine, my dear. But you know it's worth it—what's a soul without a life? And you'll have no life when you're blind. My offer is the lesser of the two evils, Bella. You know that, don't you?"

My thoughts raced. A year of sight. A year before my death. A year to _live_, not just exist. Maybe I could beg the guys to take me on the road with them—to get me started on seeing the country. Maybe I could show them the things I've always wanted to see. I could go and be free, forget about Forks and all it had brought me. I could _try_.

"Yes," I replied, voice almost silent. "I know that."

"Very good, Bella. Very good. This is the best decision you've made in a long time," she mocked lightly, touching a finger to my nose. "Now all we need to do is seal the deal…sign the contract, if you will."

"Where do I sign?" I asked. My voice was blank, but inside of me, the fear and the excitement warred with each other. This was it—I would see after this. _Unless it's some cruel joke. _I quashed that voice inside of me in an instant.

"Oh, you don't. We seal it with a kiss—you give me your word, and in turn, I give you mine. Are you ready, Bella? Do you accept this contract?"

Although I was hesitant about kissing Cindy—or the demon in Cindy's body, rather—I couldn't simply walk away. Not from something like this. Something inside me was screaming about it, telling me not to do something so rash and permanent. But the rest of me couldn't help it. I felt like another person; like I was a disembodied being hearing a foreign voice—my voice—saying these words. "Yes," I replied hoarsely, licking my dry lips. "I accept."

Her lips crashed onto mine in a long, hard, lingering kiss. I melded myself into it, missing the contact of lips on lips, even with a woman. Hers were soft, and plump, and extremely warm. As her tongue invaded my mouth, I gave a yelp and dropped Cassie's phone, but allowed her access. She gripped my hair fiercely, biting my lip once before withdrawing.

She panted her next words, "Open your eyes, Bella_._"

I did just that, and was amazed at the long blonde hair and elven face that was revealed to me. Even more amazing, but horrifying, was the pair of pitch black eyes staring at me—through me—and the predatory smile plastered on puffy lips. My breathing increased even more, already heightened by our heady kiss, and I gripped my chest in fear of a real heart attack. I glanced around at the silver-lit forest, the large moon, and the angelic demon before me, eyes flickering to and fro in an attempt to see it all. It was shocking to take everything in again—to see colors and patterns and textures. To feel the movement of my eyes and the buildup of my tears. I turned my head, rotating to get a complete view of the deserted crossroads around me, awed by all of the things I could see again. I turned back to Cindy, about to thank her.

However, Cindy was gone. In her place was cool air. I stumbled in shock, narrowly avoiding stepping on the small flip-phone below me. Hesitantly, I picked it up and looked at it—amazed by the shine of chrome and the glow of the screen.

Everything was so beautiful. I remembered Forks as dull and green. However, the forest around me was a vivid olive color, darkened by the blue-black sky and highlighted by the pure white moon. My hands were like works of art as I gazed at them, watching the muscles move beneath the skin as I flexed them, balling them into fists and then stretching them out. I shook my legs, marveling at the dark jeans and bright orange shirt I was wearing. My hair was tinted silver in the night, my skin pale as snow. Tears streamed freely from my eyes as I drank it in eagerly, parched for sight.

_It worked. She gave me sight._ And then my stomach sank. _For a year._

The knowledge of my death was an immense pressure on my chest, but I allowed the joy of my sight to stamp it out and began my trek in the general direction of a distant purring motor. As I approached, I saw two pale figures in front of a large black blob on the horizon. Nearing them, I set my working eyes upon Cassie and Jay for the first time.

Jay was a moderately sized, lanky man with a deep scar running from his cheekbone to his mouth, but handsome besides that. His eyes and hair were both dark, making his skin unbelievably pale in comparison. There was a large, gap-toothed smile plastered on his face. I was able to place him in his early twenties.

Cassie was taller than me by an inch or two, her short black hair in pigtails. Her makeup was caked on, slightly crooked, and her black-lipped smile stretched from one side of her face to the other. I took them in, examining every detail, still crying in joy at the ability to do so.

"How'd it go, Bella? Isn't she great? Did it work? What did you ask for?" Cassie's words mashed together as she rushed to get them all out, fanning her hands forward in an attempt to find me. I grabbed her arms, laughing almost manically in glee.

"It worked, Cassie. It worked." My voice was choked by the tears, and I held back a sob as she began to jump up and down and laugh.

"That's great! What'd you ask for?" she repeated curiously.

"Sight," I responded.

She gasped. "You can see me? That's awesome, Bella! Am I hot?"

"Very," I replied with a calmer laugh, voice shaking as the still bouncing Cassie jostled me. She reminded me of a taller Alice, and though my heart ached dully, my joy rushed through my veins like a drug, negating any bad feelings I knew were sure to come.

"That's…that's great," she said, sighing, calming down and letting go of me. She ran her hands along the side of the car, going to the passenger seat on the other side. "Come on, let's get you home before it's too late."

"Okay," I said, eyeing the big, beat-up SUV with longing. It reminded me of my old truck. I shook the thought away, getting in and buckling my belt. Jay wordlessly began to drive as Cassie did the same, turning in her seat to face me. I examined her face again, illuminated by the lights that wouldn't shut off because Jay had yet to put on his seat belt.

"What did you ask for?" I asked curiously. I'd figured, after my deal; that surely Cassie had asked for the same thing. As that thought occurred, I remembered something else and set the phone on the center console. "Oh, and here's your phone."

"Thanks," she said, searching for it for a moment before stuffing it in a black bag on her lap. "And you'll see soon enough," she continued vaguely, reminding me of my questioning her on the way here and how she wouldn't give me a straight answer then, either. _And now I can see for a whole year._

It was bittersweet to think it. A year of sight, but also a year of life.

The drive seemed quick as I stared silently out the window, tuning out Cassie's excited chatter, examining the beauty of the outside world I'd once taken for granted so easily. How I'd ever categorized Forks as dull and monotonous was beyond me.

"We're here," Jay said, cutting my escapade short. "This is your house, right, Bella?"

I looked at it, studying all the details as my eyes began to tear up. "Yeah, yeah it is." I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned in the door. "Thanks for everything, guys. See you soon, Cassie." The phrase had a whole new, glorious meaning.

"See ya!" she replied happily, waving back at my general direction as I shut the door and made my way to the porch. As they drove away, a terrifying thought struck me like an icy arrow in the chest. _How do I explain this?_

I looked around in a sudden panic. The boys wouldn't believe me suddenly coming back with sight. What would they think? What could they think? Horrified, I clutched at my hair, key sticking out of the doorknob, forgotten.

_Is there a medical way to fix it?_ There had to be. The field of medicine was surely advanced enough to fix blindness. _Let's hope the boys believe it._ It was the best lie I could produce, considering they could be home any minute, it was all I had. _I scheduled a surgery with Dr. Gerandy. He pitied me and booked me today._

I opened the door, only slightly relieved by this. It was a long shot, but I had no other options. It _had_ to work.

After setting my keys and purse on the table, I ran to the kitchen. There had to be more gauze in the first aid kit—I could handle pretending to be blind as I 'recovered'. The boys would have no clue! That's what I tried to tell myself, anyway, as I grabbed the wrap and began to cover my eyes, layering it to make it as believable as possible. I grabbed the scissors on a nearby stand and cut the gauze, clipping it in place and returning the materials to their rightful spots.

_This has to work. There is no other logical explanation. They have to believe me, because they don't have any other choice—it's not like just anybody knows about wish-granting demons. _Slightly pacified, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _This will work_.

Unsure of what to do now that I was back to relative blindness, I fumbled my way into the living room to lay on the couch. The television continued to drone, just as I'd left it, and I laid back, hoping to look like I was either in pain or still doped up on pain killers.

That was when the door opened, and Dean's familiar call of, "Honey, I'm home!" cut through the air. My heart thumped harshly in my chest. _This will work, right?_


	11. Twilight - 11

_**So I honestly wasn't planning to continue this story…but your continued reviews and favorites and whatnot made me think about it and actually miss writing.**_

_**I'm sorry for the absence, guys. Almost a year has gone by and I'm back. There might be continuity errors, but honestly I can only say I'm sorry and I hope you can ignore them. If they're rather large ones, however, please let me know so I can fix them.**_

_**Here we go, though. You asked and finally, you'll receive. I hope some of you can bear with me. Sorry so late!**_

It went without a hitch. So smoothly, in fact, that I felt as if I was dreaming. Whether or not I was dreaming of the boy's acceptance or of the whole regaining my sight thing, I wasn't sure. But when I went to sleep, I felt utterly at peace and completely happy. I knew I would reveal to them my sight the next day, spouting something about lasers and faster healing time. And again, I knew they would have to believe me because there wasn't any option for normal people.

When I woke, I felt light and airy. I floated out of bed—tripping and completely unfazed, I felt along the wall, knowing this would be one of the last times I'd have to do so. I got ready, brushing my hair blindly, brushing my teeth clumsily, and fumbling around for clothes. Today would be glorious.

Nothing could go wrong.

Excited, I went downstairs. The boys were chattering, but grew quiet when I hobbled into the kitchen. Breakfast had been cooked—by who, I wasn't sure. It seemed that my sudden perception was gone. I didn't know if that was because I'd gotten my sight back or because I was simply too excited to truly focus.

"Any pain, Bella?" Sam asked from my right, meaning that Dean was the one clattering around at the stove. I smiled at him.

"None at all. This new laser technology is really state of the art," I said, already implanting my lie. "The doctor said I would be able to see by the end of the day."

"Wow," Sam said thoughtfully. "That's amazing. I'm so happy for you."

"Me too," Dean said gruffly, voice growing closer. China clanked onto the table in front of me. "Plate…" he muttered. Squishy something fell onto the plate. "Eggs…" and then crisp pitter-patters. "Bacon. There. Breakfast fit for a king."

"I'm not sure how you do it, Dean," Sam said.

Pride edged into his brother's voice, "Why, thank you, I—"

"My eggs are cold and yet my bacon is horribly burnt."

There was a pause of indignant silence, broken only by Sam's small, playful chuckle. Dean breathed in deeply, beginning to say something back, and pausing. It was at this, I began laughing—jittery, I tried to eat, fingers shaking and food falling off my fork before it ever had the hope of reaching my mouth.

Dean's anger grew to something almost tangible. "How about you two shut up and eat your damn food," he grumbled.

"Aye aye, captain." I laughed at Sam's joke, only to realize a moment later that Sam wasn't the one who'd said it.

"Good one, Bella," Dean mocked.

Silently, I placated Dean by eating his food—it wasn't even that horrendous, either. Part of me wished to strip the bandages off and drink it in with my eyes, as well, but that time wasn't now. I had to wait.

Knowing, however, that I would be able to openly see by the end of the day, made me incredibly happy. I was practically bouncing in my seat as I ate, drinking orange juice someone had had the good sense to get me, and listening to more of the brothers' banter.

My day was starting wonderfully, and I knew it would end even better. After dropping the "I can see" bomb, I planned to ease my way into the "take me with you" plea. I could only hope that they'd become even slightly partial to me in their short time here—enough to agree that if I helped fund our way and stayed out of their way while they hunted, I could join in the trip.

I knew that if I was rejected, I would never have the guts to do it myself. It was like the situation with Cassie, in a way—she'd had a wonderful idea, a way to get what we wanted. I wanted to travel, and so did the brothers—but like her, I couldn't do it alone. If they said yes, they'd be doing me the largest favor yet.

Truth be told, I was slightly afraid of their answer. Either way scared me. Staying in Forks would suffocate me. Leaving would rip a chunk of me out. Yet I only would have a year to deal with such pain, so I knew that the better choice was to deal with it on the road and seeing sights.

Part of me, too, had grown attached to the brothers. Already spending time without them seemed like a hard thing to do. A large reason I wanted to travel was in order to travel with _them_. Sappy as it was, I didn't want to let them go. I had only a year and I wanted them in it.

Was it sad how attached I'd gotten so quickly? Yes, by far, I knew it was. But again, my time limit allowed me to convince myself that I simply didn't have _time_ to care.

The brothers suddenly stopped speaking, and the blaring television broke me out of my thoughts. It always seemed to be running, on the local news no less, but now it was amplified by the sudden, complete silence between the brothers. I could tell that they were trying to catch what was being said—curious, I listened in as well.

"—_drenched in blood, standing over the body. Her brother plans to post bail, but has yet to make any further comments. She has been taken into custody and is in the Forks' Sheriff's office, awaiting transfer if bail can't be posted within—"_

Dean cursed loudly as the blaring phone interrupted the newswoman's report. The chair to my left, his chair, scraped the floor as he got up to answer. "Hello?"

He paused. "Bella, it's for you."

Sam grabbed my hand, leading me across the room to Dean. A weird, eerie feeling gripped me as I approached the phone, receiver falling into my hand like a weight. I struggled to put it to my ear, oddly shaken. Was it that news report, the one obviously about a brutal murder?

"Hello?" I asked quietly.

"Bella," Cassie said. I breathed a sigh of relief, happy to hear from my new friend.

"Cas!" I said happily. "What's up?"

"I need you to come see me, Bella."

I hesitated at the immense urgency in her tone. Her words were rushed—unlike last night, in excitement. Now she spoke as if on a deadline. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm at the sheriff's office, Bella. I need to talk to you. Right now."

A lump formed in my throat. I struggled to talk around it. "Why are you there?"

"I can't say now. Come meet me, please. It's important. It's about last night." Her words rung, striking me in the heart. This pertained to me, too.

Possibilities ran in my mind, rampant, making my response sluggish. "Sure, I'll get the boys to drive me."

"Thanks," and with that, she hung up. Shaking, I set the receiver on the counter, unable to muster the ability to struggle finding the holder.

"Hey, guys?" I called. "I'm done."

They both came, two sets of footfalls, from the living room. The news was louder than before. "Can we go down to the sherriff's office?"

The question was sudden, and I hadn't even thought to tack on a reason. Looks like I'd go with the truth. "Why?"

Part of me had been hoping they wouldn't ask questions. It was silly, really, to wish for, but I'd wanted it all the same. Now, however, I gulped and breathed deeply to steel myself. "My friend is there. I want to make sure she's okay. She just called."

There was a pregnant pause. They were connecting the same dots I was. However, thankfully, they both quietly agreed to it, leading me out of the house and into their car. I took the front seat, Sam in back. The ride seemed long, and I tapped the dash with my thumb to an imaginary song as I waited. I could feel the silence pressing in on me.

So today wasn't totally wonderful. In fact, something told me that it was about to get awful.

We arrived, parked, and I was led up the ramp. Opening the door, I caught a wave of a scent I didn't want to think about—Charlie. He came home smelling like the tobacco paperwork of the office every night. Something I'd never had the grace to notice until after he was gone.

I was greeted solemnly. "I need to speak to Cas," I replied. I didn't know who I was speaking to, didn't recognize the voice, and truly didn't care.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Bella…" was the worried response. I leaned forward.

"Please. It's important." He paused, and the boys stayed silent behind me. The sound of a fax machine and ringing phones was in the background. I could hear someone else talking, _one of the most brutal things Forks has seen in a long time…_

"Alright," was the response at last. "But for only a little bit. And you'll be accompanied by Jerry—and I'd like these boys to go with you. Just in case. She's dangerous, Bella, you know that?"

I almost wanted to laugh. If only he knew that my reaction to danger was to hold its hand and follow. "I know. But she's also my friend."

"But she's a murderer!" was the reply, even though I was already being gently led toward the holding cell.

"Hey," Dean said from next to me. His warm hand tightened on mine. "Let the girl speak to her friend. And what ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"She's gonna need a damn good lawyer to be proven innocent," the man replied. His keys jingled, a door opened, and a wave of cool air hit me. "There ya go. Five minutes tops, got it, Bella? I'm watching through that window there, just in case."

I wanted to point out the bandages, but opted against any more snarky remarks. "Okay, thank you," I said softly.

"Bella," Cassie sighed. "Thank god you're here."

I stood in place, wary of moving. The boys stayed silent. "Why did you call me down, Cas?"

"I have to talk about what happened—I killed my dad, Bella." I winced as she said it. "But I don't know what came over me! I got screwed—I'm looking at ten years, Bella, can you believe that?" I knew what she was implying, though I couldn't say out loud. The deal. All of her time, gone.

"It's the deal, Bella—it turns sour."

"Deal?" Sam said from beside me. There was something foreign in his voice.

Cassie paused. "Who…who else is there?"

I winced. "Um, Sam and Dean. They're my friends. They had to come in here because you're…you know, dangerous."

"I'm not! It was that bitch! She did this to take my ten years away!" I heard a chair clang against the floor. "I didn't mean to Bella—I really didn't! It was just so bad and I couldn't…I couldn't…"

"What did you ask for?" Dean asked. I was too overwhelmed to question how he seemed to know she'd asked for something. His tone, however, unnerved me—strangely clinical for being in the room with an admitted killer.

"I wanted my dad dead—I really did. But I thought heart attack, not this."

"It'll be okay," I tried to reassure, "I promise, Cassie, we'll—"

The door flew open behind us. "Alright, that's enough," the man who had taken us here said. "She's getting violent. Charlie's daughter or not, you need to leave, Bella."

"It's okay," Sam said. That same foreign thing in his voice—something I knew was somehow directed at me. As he said his next words, I felt like I was small—an inch in height and shrinking. "We were just leaving."

"Good. Do it faster," was the gruff reply. "Take her outta here, Jerry."

"Bella please!" Cassie started screaming. There was grunting, and I could hear things clattering in a physical struggle. "You have to get out of the deal! She'll screw you out of your ten too!"

A door shut. And then another. Just me and the boys, I couldn't get over the fact that it wouldn't take much for her to take my time away—considering I didn't have ten years. I only had one.

We got to the car—but that was when they snapped. Instead of opening the door, I was shoved against it. A warm body held me there, and strong—tense, but still gentle—hands unwrapped my eyes.

Despite the fiery look in his eyes, I couldn't help but choke at Dean's face. Strong jaw, arched brows, plumped lips—he was right there, close to me, and breathing heavily. In his eyes was anger. "There was no surgery, was there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied hesitantly. My voice shook worse than my hands, crushed to my sides by his body. Sam was behind him, similar, if not calmer, look in his eye. "Of course there was. I can see, right?"

"Not with surgery, you can't. I knew something was up," Dean growled at me. "You made a deal, didn't you?"

"Cassie is just…kinda crazy. She doesn't know what she's talking about," my lies flowed freely, as if someone else was speaking for me. My heart was thumping in my chest, battering my ribcage—I felt overwhelmingly warm, like I was going to faint, and Dean's heavy weight pressing down on me wasn't helping.

"Don't lie to me Bella!" he said. "You made a deal! You went to the crossroads and made a deal for your sight!"

"I—I—" I stuttered. I didn't know what to say. He was right, of course, but he couldn't possibly know—how could he know? I didn't know. He couldn't know, right? Hazy, confused, I continued to stutter and mumble. He was so close—my stomach twisted uncomfortably. My world swayed.

"Dean," I heard Sam's voice say. It sounded distant. "Dean she's going to faint."

"She made a deal, Sam!"

"It's too late now, she already made it. Let her go—people are watching. Let's take this back to the house."

The world was spinning around me. I was going to die in a year. A year she would take away from me—just like Cassie. I could see, but what was it worth if all I got to see was a jail cell? And the boys knew—they knew at least a little bit, if not more. How much did they know? Did they know about the Cullens, perhaps?

I couldn't tell if I was going to puke or pass out. And as Dean finally stepped back and let go of me, I hunched over the curb and did both.


	12. Twilight - 12

_**Tryin here, guys. The story is getting direction. Pretty soon we're gonna leave Twi-verse alone and get back on the rails with Supernatural. Woo!**_

_**In the meantime, here's another chapter. I think I'm gonna go eat a hot pocket. Mmm. Or, have you ever tried those frozen White Castle burgers? Good god. I'm salivating.**_

_**Anyway. Here we are. Hope you like.**_

"Alright, alright!" Dean shoved Sam's hands away from him, pacing. "I'm calm. I just…I don't like deals, man. I just don't."

I was staring, disbelieving, at the two brothers. I sat on my couch and they stood before me in the free space between the coffee table and the television. They'd been chatting quietly, standing uneasily as they were now, when I woke up, bleary and sick. My world had righted itself, however, in time for a rushed interrogation by Dean. His words had blended together in a rushed jumble in my swaying mind. Sam had intervened, pulling him away and shooting me a semi-sympathetic look.

Now they stood, Dean fidgeting, and I couldn't stop feeling helplessly small. They knew—they knew about what I'd done. Worse, even, was what was bound to happen. I felt strange, knowing Cassie had gotten ten years and I'd only gotten one. I couldn't fathom why I'd get so short-ended; there was more to come, too. Cassie's ten years were soon to be spent in prison. Who knew how mine would turn out?

"And I did some digging, too—when you told me to clear my head. Yeah, we got something else just a few towns over. Only a couple reported cases, nothing nobody's looked into too bad—drained dry." Dean was ranting now, low and angry, to Sam. "I'm thinking it might be that thing I saw when I swerved and—" swallowing hard, stopping there, he turned and looked at me.

They both seemed to realize now that I was there. Dean stayed standing, jaw flexing as he looked away, regret palpable. Sam, however, sat down next to me gently. I jumped, but more out of reflex than fear of his presence. Though Dean had me on edge with his behavior, and I was still shocked at their knowledge of what I'd done, I wasn't afraid.

"Bella," Sam said calmly. "We're not—well, I'm not," he glanced to Dean, "mad. I just need to know if you made a deal with the Crossroads Demon."

I took a deep breath. Everything was shaking—but they knew, right? What was the harm in telling them now? I had my year, if that, and my fate was sealed. However, there was one thing that was bugging me. I'd sold my soul…what happened after that? I'd been translating "no soul" to "instant death." But was that the case? Did the demon possess me? Did I do its bidding? What happened when collection time came?

Storing my questions, I finally spoke, "I made a deal—she said she was a demon, but I didn't…" I paused. Had I really disbelieved? After all, I'd had a tryst with a vampire. Could I truly claim that there wasn't at least some small part of me that didn't think it was real? Unsure of myself, I continued anyway, stomach queasy, "I didn't think. And I didn't really believe it would work—but somehow she knew about me and told me she knew what I wanted and she was right. I wanted my sight back and she told me I could have it."

"So you made the deal," Sam concluded. "Did she have you sign something? Or give her an object of yours?" I thought back to our transaction, to what happened right after I said yes.

Shaking my head, "No, no, nothing like that. She…"

"How did she seal the contract, Bella?"

I felt myself blushing—in all this, I chose to be embarrassed about kissing a girl? Figured. Part of me was laughing at myself. "No, she kissed me."

Sam paused and looked to Dean, whose eyebrows rose. "There's a bright side. Some girl on girl." Sam rolled his eyes in response, looking back to me earnestly, embodiment of a puppy, and I almost wanted to smile and spill my guts to him. Instead, however, I remembered my questions.

"She said—she said I have a year." Before I could continue, Dean stopped me.

"Wait, what?" He stooped down, looking me in the eye. "A year? Not ten?"

I shrugged, helpless, hopeless. "I…I don't know. She said there was something about me, her usual deal wouldn't do, and I would get a year. I took the deal, and we kissed, and now she has my soul, and I don't even know what that means…" I looked down at my hands, picking at my nails and fidgeting, hands in my lap, clothes dirty with bile and rain—when had it begun raining? Was it raining now? I didn't know, and I couldn't bring myself to look up to check. "I…what happens? After my year?"

I looked up at Sam. His head was tilted to the side, eyes still sympathetic, but now grim. He seemed to be holding something back. Tears blurring the bottom half of my vision, nose stinging, I looked to Dean. He was looking away, at the ground. "Tell me, please," I said quietly. "Please tell me what happens."

"You die—and you go to Hell."

My bones solidified into stone, pure cold concrete in my body. My tears fell, but no more followed. More shocked than ever, I tried to cope with the fact that Hell was real, and that I was going. They could have been lying, but my gut, filled now with ice water, was to trust them. They knew what they were talking about.

Unable to comment further on this, I redirected the topic. "Who are you? How do you know all this?"

"We're hunters," Dean answered, shifting his weight back on his opposite heel, crossing his arms.

"Normal people don't just know this—do they?" I asked, incredulous. My fingers moved to the couch, gripping it to anchor myself, scraping at the worn fabric.

"Not normal hunters—supernatural hunters. Monsters, demons, vampires, werewolves. We hunt these things and kill them." I put off the V word, staving the pain away, compiling it in my mind for later. Instead, I focused my energy on coping with this—but found it easy. I'd reached my limit of surprise. At this point, discovering anything else was pie.

"Can you kill the demon that is going to send me to Hell?" I asked. "Can you help me?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "There's a lot going on in this town, and we have no idea where it went."

"Like the blood thing," I said. I contemplated revealing what I knew—they knew of vampires, for example. Had they been coming here for that reason? The Cullens were vegetarians, yes, but did that matter to these men? Were they still evil because of what they were? And then Dean had mentioned seeing something and swerving. I'd mentally filled in the rest of his sentence, deducing that he'd seen something, swerved, and hit my car. Hence how this all started.

However, I could possibly do damage control. I could take focus away from the Cullens. Edward—he'd mentioned once about Victoria. She was still at large. I wondered now if I could possibly blame her, or James, or the other one—I couldn't remember his name, but was it possible? Could I shift the spotlight off of the Cullens? After all, this whole "draining blood" thing had to sprout from somewhere. Charlie had always insisted the killings were the giant bear walking around, but I'd been hesitant to believe that. Now, my gut was telling me something else.

I'd already told the boys about the cold ones. Vampires. But I'd told it as a girl who'd heard a legend and didn't really believe it. Now if I told it as a witness, gave accounts, shared my story—could that do me any good? If I told them what I knew would they help me out as well?

Fear gripped me. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to go to Hell. I didn't want any of this. I'd never been a particularly good, religious person—but Hell didn't seem to fit me either. One mistake wasn't fair. One moment of weakness, of blind faith.

"Bella? _Bella_?" Sam waved his hand in front of my face, breaking my trance.

"I know what that is," I said at last. "At least, I think."

"Oh, really," Dean said skeptically. "Enlighten us."

And with those words, the floodgates opened. Emotionlessly, with no tears, I looked both men in the face and spilled my story of the Cullens. I brushed over the Edward parts, dampening them for both my sake and theirs.

There was a small intermission between the boys, talking about how they'd never seen or heard of a vampire like I'd described. Not that they encountered them often, but golden or red eyes, hard and cold as stone skin, _sparkling. _None of that made any sense to them. Deciding that it must have been a higher grade of vampire than they were used to, they let me continue.

I went on to tell them heavily of James, of Laurent—it took me a few moments of contemplation to remember his name—and of Victoria. I'd told them that Edward had said she would be back for revenge, as James' mate.

"Wait wait wait," Dean said, hands up, after I'd finished my story. "So this Victoria bitch—she's the one behind the drained bozos?"

I shrugged. Clinical exterior and roiling interior, I cleared my throat and kept my voice as neutral as possible. "I don't know. But the same sort of thing happened when she and James were around."

"But the Cullens—Cullens, right?" I nodded. Sam continued on, "They left…so why is she here?"

"Maybe she thinks they're still here?" I suggested.

Sam shook his head. "You said they were great trackers, wonderful scenting, impeccable eyesight—if she's hunting this close, then she's already scoped it out. She knows they aren't here."

"So why then?" I asked. "_If_ she's here, why?"

Dean and Sam gave each other a charged look. Silent communication I wasn't in on—I'd felt it, sometimes, when I was around them. A small bout of silence and suddenly the air was denser than before. They were speaking without words, something similar to Alice and Edward, and seeing it first hand was almost painful.

Both men turned to me. "Bella," Sam began, lilting tone still full of sympathy, soft, drawing me in. He'd make a good vampire. The thought about made me laugh.

"She's after you," Dean intervened, voice gruff.

I choked on air. "M—me?"

"Edward killed James to defend you—seems logical she'd root out the problem. Monsters don't generally like to kill their own race, anyway. Not that we've seen. If there was a human involved, she'd gank you first." When Dean put it that way, it was frighteningly logical.

"They're so powerful," I choked out. No longer able to contain the whirlwind, I felt as if my chest was collapsing in on itself. "I'm a sitting duck. If she's here…she's going to kill me."

Sam's jaw flexed. He glanced briefly at Dean, but Dean didn't take his eyes off me. I looked away from them, tears rolling freely now. My insides were having a war, imploding, wrinkling, and I felt sickly. "We won't let that happen," Sam said. "We'll fix that—if we can't fix the deal, we'll at least let you live out your year."

"But she's so strong and unstoppable," I said, breathing heavily, on the urge of hyperventilating. I was ripping holes in the old couch, something I knew I would regret later. "I—there's nothing humans can do to…"

"There's always something," Dean said. "We just…don't know what."

"This is the first time we've encountered…well, this type of vampire. We will figure out how to kill it eventually," Sam added. "She won't hurt you."

"But she knows where I live. She could come before you figure it out." Breathe Bella, Breathe. Don't pass out. You've done too much of that.

"Well." Sam stood up with a sigh. Dean, seeming to just have noticed that he'd sat down at some point during our conversation, stood as well. "If she knows where you are at all times, we'll just have to fix that, too."

"What do you mean?" I asked, quivering, shaking, cold and hot all over. The tears were gone, but my face felt warm and chapped and my nose stung horribly.

He offered his hand, heaving me up when I took it. "We can't kill her—staying in town is dangerous to you, and we would do much better to ask some friends. So, we take her target and vanish." Dean seemed unsure of this, looking at the back of Sam's head. But those hazel eyes were so earnest that I found myself fully believing everything he said. "You come hunting with us—stay out of the way—and we'll find the answers."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I—I…the house…my things?" Unable to be coherent, I shrugged and looked at him emptily, unsure of myself.

"Pack the necessities. Leave the house. Trust me," he said. "We'll get you back in no time. And you'll forget all about us afterward."

"But—"

"Listen, Bella," Dean interjected. Gruff, but not unkind, "people are dying here because you're here. If we take you out, it'll be the best short-term solution. Limited time offer. Save your ass and the lives of other people who don't deserve to get caught in this vampy love triangle."

Brows knitted, nails bitten down to the quick, feet shuffling, and body still shaking, I could do nothing more than nod. "Okay. I'll come with you."

"Well," with a short smirk, Dean looked to Sam and then back to me. "I'll go get the car."


	13. Dead in the Water - 1

_**Now the real fun begins. We'll be working off the Supernatural timeline – because the events here and the events of New Moon technically take place about a year apart. However, for the sake of the story, we're back in 2005, late autumn, with the boys. We'll visit the third episode of the first season, Dead in the Water, and put Bella in that one to give both you and I a feel of how she and the boys interact. Afterwards, I'll do a little bit of this and that – some original episodes, some Supernatural episodes, and a little bit of Twilight weaved between. **__**I MUST SAY, HOWEVER**__**, that this chapter might be a little on the boring side. Same with next chapter. After that, I plan to branch out into some funner stuff so stay tuned and stay patient!**_

_**Well anywho here it is. And for anyone interested, I just might be starting an original fic of my own – my own characters, no fandoms, etc. If that even piques your fancy, let me know and I might be able to send you a snippet or two.**_

_**Meh. Haha, here we go. Man, I'm up way too late.**_

"…but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there," Dean was finishing, voice angry, forceful. I blinked blearily, shifting, moving my numb hand out from under my head, causing me to bump it harshly against the window. Wincing, I rubbed it, looking at the brothers again. The silence was short lived as the driver continued, "And you know Sam, this was your idea. Cold feet now—when we're in _Wisconsin_, well, not gonna do. I didn't ask you to invite her."

"Well it seemed right at the time…but you haven't even said a word about dad. Or anything. You've been so mopey about the accident in the first place, and it's come back full force now."

There was an awkward pause, Dean sighing angrily. Realizing they were talking about me, and also hadn't noticed my awakening, I quickly laid back against the window and closed my eyes, feigning sleep to hear out the rest of the conversation.

"What Sam—what do you want me to say? You think I don't feel bad—you think I don't think it was my fault she made the deal in the first place? And besides, you need to cut the uppity crap about dad."

"Cut the—Dean, I don't need to cut anything. We need to find dad, we need to…"

"Sounds great, Sam, let's get on that. Tell me where he is and we'll go get him now."

They were escalating. I tried to hone in on the conversation over my beating heart, scared of being caught. My fingers were twitching, and I slowly moved my hand forward, where my one memento had rolled to the edge of my lap—gripping it, I felt slightly more at ease.

"You know I don't know that, Dean, but that doesn't mean we can't try."

"Yeah well his coordinates led us to nowhere. He wanted us to hunt that super-vamp—he led us to something we don't know how to kill. And well, we fixed the situation. Sure, it's an ace bandage on a cannon-ball wound but it's all we got. We have the prize winner of the one thing he wanted us to do, so now we take her and run."

"But Dean…"

"What, Sam? Dad wanted us in Forks, which is why he gave us the coordinates. Now we've done the best we can to finish what we started. All we've got is to follow this lead and do our damn jobs. We're not just Winchesters, Sam—we're hunters, and we've promised to hunt things and save people and that's what we're gonna do. Now we gotta go a little slow with our new leash, but we're doing what would make Dad proud."

"I'm not worried about making him proud, Dean—I'm worried about finding him."

"Maybe he'll come to us. That's really the best we can do, so shove it."

The conversation stopped there, dead silence but for the purring motor and the quiet Metallica. I waited for the conversation to pick up again, but it didn't. It was tense in the car, and I stroked the soft bristles of my baby cactus, growing some strange comfort off of my piece of Arizona. I waited a while longer, minutes passing by, before I deemed it safe to flutter my eyes, stretch my arms, and groan with waking.

I got a few glances back. Dean half-smiled, and Sam took a moment longer to look at me. Quirking his lips, he looked down at his lap, papers shuffling. "Where are we?" I asked slowly, blinking at the sun and thanking my lucky stars that my voice was scratchy, aiding my "just woke up" act.

"Wisconsin. About ten minutes from our destination, actually," Sam answered quietly. "We should get to Late Manitoc here s…" trailing off, he shot Dean a perplexed look as the driver turned the wheel, pulling into a vast parking lot of a Quik-Mart.

"Low on supplies," Dean offered, swerving to park and screeching to a halt, tires squealing lightly in protest. I gripped the cactus and my door, but as he put the car in park and shut it off, my tensed muscles eased. My legs began to ache as Sam opened his door and climbed out, my thoughts turning to the wonderful feeling of walking upright. I quickly followed suit, shutting the door lightly behind me and trailing behind the boys as they made their way toward the store.

They didn't seem interested in me, nor disinterested—however they gazed around in almost disinterest, taking care to look at each person around us twice. I followed suit, wondering just what they were analyzing—there was a girl and a small child holding hands, an older man in overalls, a police officer talking to a cart-boy, and a woman in uniform hurrying away from the store, seeming to have just gotten off and wishing to get away from her place of employment as quickly as possible.

Yet nothing was out of place. Seeming to notice that same thing, the boys looked to each other, and then back at me. "Alright, we're gonna split to save time—I'll get the fluid. Sam, get the distilled water, and Bella, you know those big bags of rock salt? Grab a cart and get about twenty of those." I nodded, my eyes involuntarily widening at the thought of that much salt. What was the purpose of that? However, I had trusted the boys thus far, so rather than commenting, I grabbed a cart as told.

Parting ways and browsing yard- and automotive-care, I was swept with sudden waves of strange emotion. First was absolute joy as my new eyes took in the array of colors, symbols, and words. I could see everything, and even such a mundane sight as spades and tail-light bulbs was magnificent to my virgin eyes. After that, however, the mundane action of shopping set in, and I grew hungry for something more…something better. Was this what my year would turn into? The boys planned to help me escape the deal and get my life back, but really, was it realistic to think? I mean, this was a _demon_ after all—surely they were simply being sympathetic. Dean and Sam must have thought back to those times where I talked of seeing things, traveling, and wanted to make my last year worthwhile. That, and if they were right about Victoria, which I knew they were, this would help the people of Forks and Seattle that had been dying. They weren't a part of this and didn't deserve to become her prey when I was what she truly wanted.

And now, it seemed, Victoria would have to get in line.

These thoughts passed me quickly, allowing me to stroll up and down the same aisle, seeing the salt but not quite registering it was there. However, looking down, the sight of my pale hands on the cart handle brought me back to the here-and-now, making me realize I was wasting time. And as I heaved the twenty-five pound bags into my arms and flopped them into the cart, I thought of those times where I shopped for two, buying dinner for Charlie and I and preparing weeks' worth of reheat-able meals for him. The thoughts and memories were painful, and I bit down on my lip to keep the wounds at bay.

Tired by the time all twenty-three bags were in the cart, I took a moment to lean against the now clear shelf and breathe. The physical strain allowed me to avoid thinking, and instead I stared at the tiles beneath me. Taking a last, deep breath, I sighed and gripped the cart, struggling to turn it around and head toward the front of the store.

I spotted Dean, cart full of lighter fluid, waiting semi-patiently in the large main aisle of the store, but not quite committing to a line. He waved me over, counting the bags as I approached.

"Why twenty-three?"

I shrugged, face heating up at his scrutiny—these were supplies, with which I assumed Sam and Dean would hunt the demons and monsters they spoke of. Meaning that this was their forte, and I felt suddenly like an intruder—like the smallest thing I did wrong would mess everything up. Was twenty-three too much? Too little? Did they need a perfectly even number?

"All they had," I huffed out, still out of breath from pushing the too-heavy cart. Sticking out his bottom lip and nodding, he seemed to approve.

"Just wondering," he muttered after a few moments of nodding, to confirm that I'd done right. Relieved, and internally laughing at myself for getting so worked up over something stupid, I scrubbed my face with my hand, rubbing my tired eyes and running a hand through my scraggly hair. I was in and out in the car, dreaming and waking only to fall back asleep, making my ability to judge how long it had taken us to get here shaky at best. However, it was long enough for me to feel dirty and ache for a shower.

As Sam joined us, jugs upon jugs of distilled water in his cart, I suddenly wondered just how Dean planned to fit all of this into the impala. My bag hadn't taken much trunk space, and their small duffle wasn't much of an addition—yet even then I doubted this would all fit. But Dean didn't hesitate, simply counting up everything we had and nodding to himself, pulling out a credit card. I wondered, then, where he'd have the money for these supplies. Something about the secrecy of the job made me feel that it wasn't very lucrative, and moving around as much as they claimed to didn't leave room for much else in the way of side jobs.

Full of questions and sheer curiosity, I stood back and watched the boys put one of each thing on the belt. The cashier looked surprised—"Is this all?"

Dean shook his head, "No, I've got twenty-three of the salt, fifty-eight of the fluid, and eleven of the water."

The man across the counter looked surprised, leaning over his scanner to check, eyes bulging much like mine had. "That's…quite the party." His tone was awkwardly suspicious, although he brought out the scan gun and immediately began to scan each item the allotted number of times. His eyes narrowed, scanning over the boys and then sticking to me.

"Barbecue up in Alaska," Dean supplied. "Big company thing." Lying came so naturally to him.

"Ah," the boy replied, scratching at his chin as he finished scanning, "Well, that brings you to…seven hundred and fifty-four dollars and seventy-nine cents." Eyes bulging once again at the price, the boy looked up to Dean.

With a calm smile, Dean flipped the card into the cashier's hands. The card went through and we took our purchases, three carts worth, out to the impala.

"How do you pay for it all?" I asked, calling ahead to Dean, who led the front of our procession. He glanced back at me, and Sam caught up to me, looking to Dean as well.

"Magic," was the response I got, obviously sarcastic. Realizing immediately that he probably wouldn't tell me, not without some forcing, I just rolled my eyes. Annoyance lightly clawed at my chest, but I shoved it down. Some secrets had to be kept, I guess—it was all I could say. The sane part of me marveled that I had still decided to come out and fully trust these men, going with them on the road.

I pushed her away. Too late now.

Dean popped the trunk, jingling the keys, and moving my bag as well as his aside, gripping a small handle and pulling up a compartment. I sucked in a breath, fingers and toes going cold at the freakish sight…anything satanic or pagan looking resided in that trunk, as well as other religious paraphernalia. So much of it, mixed in with guns and daggers, other strange weapons I didn't have a name for. And below that, he opened another compartment, deeper than the first, where he began to take the bags from my cart and put them.

He offered a small smile to me. "Scared?"

"No," I responded obstinately, voice a hesitant whisper. Those things…what did they do with all of that.

"Too bad," Dean muttered. Sam stepped in then, helping to neatly order and stack the bags and then the jugs in the compartment. The fluid went in last, easily filling the secret cabinet and allowing Dean to close it, shutting the first drawer as well. Our bags went neatly on top, unassuming.

Biting my lip, switching to my thumbnail, I allowed Sam to take my cart while Dean unlocked the doors. I slipped in behind Sam, who jogged back to the car and took up his previous position, skimming his folder.

"Um—so, what's in Wisconsin?" I was surprised I'd said anything, but I allowed my curiosity to flow.

"A job," Sam responded easily. He elaborated upon feeling my unspoken question, "Well, we have you, and you're safe—so we're going back to hunting things. We'll probably show you some simple things, to hopefully protect yourself when around us, but otherwise you'll have to take a background role."

I didn't like the sound of the "background role." I thought to my limited time, wondering what he expected me to do. "Well…what exactly is a 'background role?'"

Sam looked at me, turning awkwardly in his seat, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. For a moment, I rediscovered just how much of a giant he was, and felt incredibly small. "You'll stay in the motel, watch the news, call us if there's anything you notice—watch some TV, play on my computer—if you're careful," there was a warning in his eyes, "you know, that sort of thing."

I bit my lip again, looking down at my lap, noticing I'd taken to holding my little cactus again. My piece of Arizona, before the vampires and the supernatural. Before I'd done anything I would regret. "Well…I…" I didn't know how to put this without intruding.

"What?" gruff but not unkind, Dean glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Well, I mean—" getting choked up at what I was about to say, I felt overwhelmingly stupid. But I pressed on because this meant something to me, and I couldn't let them shove me in a room. "I have a year, a—and…well, say you don't save me. Can't I spend my time helping you instead of watching Bonanza reruns?"

Dean nodded, looking to Sam, whose face was tense. A barely there shake of his head, but Dean began speaking despite him, "You're not hunter material," he began, taking a long pause. I was being shut down. Feeling oddly disappointed in myself at what he'd said, I looked away, out the window. "But you can come with us for the boring stuff."

"Dean—" Sam began.

"Got your license on ya?" Dean was saying, pulling in a quick swerve to a deserted gas station. I dug out my wallet, handing him the ID he was asking for. Reaching over Sam, whose mouth was open in astonishment, he opened the glove box and pulled a little machine out. "Gimme your laptop, Sammy."

Wordlessly, the computer was handed over. It didn't take Dean long to hook up the machine, take a blank card, insert it, and run my license through as well. Mere minutes and something printed out, laminated and official-looking.

"Here," he said, "CDC is easiest, so we'll roll with that. Can you lie to a grown man's face?"

I thought of all the lies I'd told Charlie. Heart wilting, I nodded. Back to biting my thumb nail—taste of rust on my tongue, I nipped my teeth at the quick, trying to get Charlie out of my mind.

"Good," and again the car started, roaring as we merged with traffic.

Lost in my thoughts, I was surprised when we'd reached a house. Dean turned to me, offering a serious look, "Get your game face on. Stay quiet and watch us. Maybe one day you'll join on the fun." Quirking into a confident smile, he pulled the keys and hopped out of the car. Sam nodded, looking less at ease with this, and I suddenly thought that a motel might have been nice.

Shaking my head, I followed them out, slipping the card into my pocket. They didn't want me to speak, so though I wanted to ask about the details, I shut my mouth and trailed the boys to the front door, where we were met with a young man.

I phased in and out of the conversation, finding myself looking around as they spoke. I caught the meat, however—this boy's sister, a varsity swimmer, had died in a freak accident. No body found, but no evidence of a creature either—the boy seemed shocked at the questions of strange shadows or figures by the shoreline, asking what was out there only to be met with evasive answers.

Our request to speak to the father was shut down quickly. We could see him, sitting alone on the dock and looking at the water, epitome of sadness, and Will seemed unwilling to allow us to talk to him. We left sympathetically, politely asking directions to the police station on our way out.

Following the roads pointed out to us, it was easy to reach the shack labeled "Sheriff's Office" on the main road. Walking in, we met the sheriff immediately. Dean shook his hand, introducing the three of us with our fake names—two Wildlife Service agents and one CDC officer. I felt awkward at the look we received.

"Does the CDC normally work with the Wildlife Service?" Sheriff Jake Devins asked me skeptically.

Dean stuttered, as did Sam, gesturing and laughing—had they truly not expected that question? Scrambling, I laughed uneasily as well. "Well—oftentimes animals act out when rabid or diseased…if that's the case, my department will have to look into it as well." The lie rolled from my lips smoothly, as if I wasn't the one to say it.

The nod of understanding I received from the officer rolled over me like a fresh wave. When he turned his back to open his office door, Sam gave me a strange look, raised eyebrows, and Dean nodded in approval. Brushing my hands along the bruised wood of the doorway as I followed behind them, I lingered there, hoping my cheeks would soon clear of that proud blush.

Maybe I could be of some use, after all? I only hoped those looks were to acknowledge that.

Sitting in the farthest chair, I listened intently to the sheriff, "Now, that's all fine and dandy, ma'am, but there's no indigenous carnivores in that lake. Surely not something large enough to pull down a person." He chuckled to himself, "Well, you'd have to be dealing with Nessie."

The uneasy chuckle and sudden shift between the two boys made my heart flutter. Of all things, the Loch Ness Monster surely wasn't…? Sparing myself the burden of wondering, I cleared my throat and focused on the conversation.

We learned little, but the dam was wearing down, making the lake soon to drain—this seemed to interest the boys, and I took mental note of it. However, before much more could be learned, a woman knocked on the door.

Introduced as the sheriff's daughter, Dean walked up to her, introducing himself too enthusiastically. Sam looked over at me, rolling his eyes and sighing. I quirked a smile in return, hoping to be somewhat reassuring. He seemed to be used to this, however we all were taken aback as, between the two of them in that gap Dean was attempting to close, a small child slipped. Sad eyes and long dark hair hiding a little freckled face, he gazed up at Sam, Dean, and then myself. I felt stricken as he looked at me, then turned and left.

The woman apologized for his behavior, answering Dean's question, "His name is Lucas."

"Is he okay?" Sam asked.

"My grandson has been through a lot," Jake said, rounding into the main room we'd followed the boy into. Playing with toy soldiers and drawing with crayons now, I felt myself drawn toward him. The play area was small, but I slipped by Sam and Dean, tuning out the conversation completely in lieu of going toward him.

I'd always liked children. They were innocent, small, and honest. Unlike the adults I had to deal with daily—my mom, so immature, left me with all of the responsibilities. I'd battled the tax-collectors, argued the land-lords, chatted with the secretaries. Registering, paying, promising. Adults were so fake, so full of lies and cattiness. Even I was like that, and I longed for the innate honesty of children.

Babysitting had always been my favorite job. By far. And I knew, looking at Lucas, he was a quiet one. Like a rabbit, spooked at sudden movements and loud noises. Kneeling down at the table next to him, I took my place there, watching him draw, saying nothing.

At my unending silence, rivaling his, he glanced up at me beneath his curtain of hair. Briefly, hoping to go unnoticed, and quick to dart back down to the paper. Sitting here now, I forgot about my pretense as a government agent, as an official, as anything. I was here with this boy, and the closer I was to him, the more damaged I felt.

I didn't know what happened to him, but something. That part of me that missed Charlie tingled, shriveling in my mind, awakening with new pain. His loss was almost palpable around us, in this playpen. He scribbled on the paper, deep blues, creating a sea on the paper.

Biting my lip, I grabbed the red crayon, stealing blank paper and following suit—broad, loose strokes. It could use some orange. Yellow. I painted from that part of me that hurt and found the end result, when Dean and Sam tugged my shoulder, to be the thing that haunted my dreams more often than not. The fire I hadn't seen, but knew too well.

Thinking of Charlie's heroic last act brought me no comfort.

I left the picture there, with Lucas, who didn't offer a second glance as I was dragged out into the open behind the boys and Andrea. Unable to listen as Dean attempted to flirt with her, talking about how wonderful children were—I was stuck thinking of Charlie, of losing him, and of that boy. He'd lost someone, too. And as Andrea walked away, laughing off Dean's pickup lines but making no mention of a husband or boyfriend, I suddenly felt that I knew just who Lucas had lost.


	14. Dead in the Water - 2

_**Ask and thou shall receive. Another chapter. On the longer side, too! So here we go, getting deeper into this episode—I think I might start naming episodes in order to better keep track, for you readers out there. Yeah, I'm gonna go back and do that.**_

_**Anyhow. Hope you like it. We finish up Dead in the Water next chapter! Stay tuned!**_

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean turned around, looking dismayed. "This is…are you serious?"

The man across the counter shrugged. "Look, buddy, I don't know what you want—this is a motel, not a world class bed and breakfast. Two queens, no cots or couches. Someone'll just have to keep the lady friend warm at night." With a sleazy grin at me, he looked back to the boys.

"How about another room?" A few quick clicks on the old computer got us a slow shake of the head in return.

"Nope—all full. It's that season, boys, truckers in and out. Lake Manitoc is a good stay." He raised an eyebrow beneath shaggy hair. "Want it or not?" He held his arm up, keys jingling in his hand.

Dean sighed dramatically and swiped them, "Sounds great, thanks." Sam nodded, small smile on his face, following his brother out. Looking down, hands on my cactus—really, why did I bring this in here in the first place?—I trailed them.

The room wasn't awful. Worn down, but not unclean. It looked out into a forested area, which I felt oddly appreciative of. Sam immediately sat at a round table near the entrance, and I followed suit, sitting across from him and scooting my chair back. Since my encounter with Lucas, I'd been feeling oddly contemplative, and at the moment it was a nice luxury to look into the woods, watching the wind work its magic on the trees, swaying lightly.

"Sam," Dean barked, turning both of our attentions to him. He was laying on one of the beds, far to the left. "Come here and lay down."

Sam's face scrunched into a confused scowl. "_What_?"

"You heard me. Get over here."

After a moment, Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and walking to the bed. His shoes squeaked on the tile, leaving faint mud marks, before crossing over to the dark carpet, where again I noticed how heavy his steps were. He was a large man, fit but stocky, and tall as well. As he laid down beside Dean, I realized immediately that the pair wouldn't work. Much as I wanted a bed to myself, there was no hope.

Dean rolled over, arms squished between him and Sam, attempting to flip onto his back and unable to do so. Sam, on his stomach, had his head against the wall and his feet hanging off the end. "I uh…I usually sleep diagonal so I fit."

"Yeah…no dice," Dean said, wincing as he finally rolled successfully, arms cramped up onto his chest, much like a T-Rex. The site was comical, and I giggled lightly. Noticing my giggle, Dean sat up. "You try, Bells," he said. Still laughing, I barely took note of the new nickname, and did as he asked.

Lying next to Sam was much easier for me, but he still looked awkward, barely fitting. I encouraged him to lie diagonal, as he wished, and turned myself to adapt. I looked up at him, smiling lightly, and he looked down with a smile as well. Yet suddenly, as if something occurred to him, his smile fell. Something clouded his eyes over, and he had to shake his head to bring himself back to reality. My smile wore away as well, wondering what was wrong.

"This won't work," he said, something strange in his voice. "I'm uncomfortable." Dean seemed to acknowledge that strange tone his brother suddenly had, and I looked over at the other man, sitting on the bed opposite us. I felt oddly…rejected. Not that I relished the idea of being cramped up next to Sam, but I couldn't help but wonder what was suddenly so awful. Looking to the bathroom door, I contemplated how long it had been since my last shower, and it occurred to me that I might have smelled.

"Well, looks like you're with me, Bella," Dean said at last, breaking away my thoughts. Sam shot up and walked back over to his laptop, feigning calm. "So—drowning victims," Dean switched topics, and I sat up, legs spread before me on the bed, contemplating this arrangement. I'd had brief periods of closeness with Dean before—same with Sam, and it was forced closeness at that. When I'd needed guiding around, or help up stairs. But now was different, in many ways.

I no longer needed help; not in the physical aspect, anyway. And sleeping next to Dean? The thought was terrifying, the more I dwelled on it. Stomach dropping like a ball of pure ice, I couldn't help but do just that. Last time I'd slept in the same bed with anyone, I'd been with Edward—though the pain of thinking about him had lessened significantly, it still hurt. Would I be able to stand being that close to another man again?

Not only that, but I wanted to save some face around these men. They knew a lot about me—in fact, they knew everything worth knowing, other than the fact that I'd dated Edward. I'd described him as a friend, like all of the other Cullens, if only because calling him my boyfriend would have been too painful to say out loud. And the boys had taken it roughly—giving me strange looks for trusting those vampires. I'd quickly pointed out, however, in a toss up between an understanding Sam and a vocal Dean, that the trust I'd put in them was similar to my trust of the boys now. That had quieted Dean down enough for me to explain their lifestyle, of veering away from human blood in lieu of animals. When Dean wanted to continue on his righteous "but they're vampires" talk, I'd harshly reminded him that he and Sam had done a lot more damage to me than the Cullens ever had—though it wasn't true, my anger had risen at the awful slang he was using about the Cullens, and it was the best way to make him grow quiet and still

I'd noticed he'd changed toward me since then, however. Almost imperceptible, but he'd been slightly kinder to me, more quiet. Reserved, in a way. I felt it beginning to fade, the more time we spent together, but the playful jabs had lessened. And I couldn't tell if it was because of my vampire history or if it was because of what I'd said. I knew it had hit a sore spot, because he felt awful about what he'd done and how I'd ended up, but it had been the only way to stave him away from ranting about the Cullens.

That was a rant I just wasn't able to deal with. Not at the time.

Now, however, they knew. They knew my gory past, if only the abridged version, and I knew very little about them in return. They were looking for their father, and they hunted the supernatural. I could assume when they called their dad a hunter, he did the same as well. I remembered Dean mentioning coordinates that the absent father had left them, which had led them to Forks in the first place. Why that was, I didn't think they knew any more than I did. Yet, none of that mattered now, because that was all I knew about them, and neither man seemed inclined to tell me more.

What worried me was this gap. They had my dirt and I was on slick floors without traction. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass myself, or become a liability. I wanted to stick it out with these boys, traveling, finding my salvation, a way to return my soul. And if we couldn't do that, well, I wanted to go out fighting, like them.

Vivid flashes of myself, in the middle of the night, wailing and crying, came to mind. I thought of Dean looking at me, shocked, scared, waking me up and telling me that this obviously wasn't where I was supposed to be. I thought of him sending me home, packing, and promising to take care of Victoria and the demon on his own. I imagined him leaving me in Forks to rot, something that I'd previously wanted to do, but now couldn't imagine.

And truthfully, the hypothetical scenario was painfully similar to that memory of Edward, which pained to think about. I was worried they'd abandon me like Edward, something I wouldn't be able to deal with.

The way I saw it, I had myself a year to make worthwhile. To make truly memorable. And then Hell—I wasn't sure I could accurately imagine a place I'd previously thought fictional, but I had to try to make it a reality, because soon it would be _my_ reality. No matter how much my gut—against the logical part of my brain—trusted these boys, I felt they couldn't do this. Take on a _demon_? Surely that was above their paygrade.

Either way, it didn't matter. I didn't want to be thrown to the side again, and embarrassing myself was the surest way to get that done. I had a feeling that my regular nightmares, if they got to the usual screaming and flailing level, would accomplish just that. I thought of the things plaguing my mind lately, wondering what I would lay down and dream of tonight, when suddenly the one thought that I couldn't take brought itself to the forefront of my mind.

My eyes stung as I contemplated it—whether from being opened too long or from the new urge to cry, I wasn't sure. Either way, I closed them, rubbing my eyes and hanging my head at the thought.

I'd recently found out Hell was real. A place where dead souls went. Charlie was a righteous man, quietly religious, but he'd lost faith when I'd become what I had. He'd stopped those late night prayers—I'd heard them dwindling, going from nightly to weekly to monthly to none. And I couldn't help but wonder…where was he now?

The afterlife existed. I couldn't calmly think that Charlie was no more. Now I had to hope he'd truly gone to a better place, just as the minister had said over his body what felt like ages ago. Billy had hugged me, by my side in the wheelchair. Jake as well. A few locals, closer to Charlie than most. Mom.

Charlie was a good man. That's all I could tell myself. Because he couldn't be in…he couldn't. I didn't mind if I went there, but Charlie didn't deserve that. And that opened another possibility—maybe it wasn't all bad, if I went to Hell. Could I possibly bargain? Could I barter? If I saw Charlie there, would I ever have a way to get him out? Surely there was something I could do—but those were silly thoughts anyway, because Charlie wouldn't be there. He couldn't be, he—

"Bella! _Earth to Bella_!" Dean was yelling, snapping, waving. I looked at him, blinking as if I'd stepped from a dark room into the sunlight—eyes stinging and nose threatening to run, I swiped at my face and tucked my hair behind my ears, scooting forward on the bed to allow my legs to dangle off, toes skimming the floor. Mind snapping to the present, I felt grateful he'd gained my attention.

"Um—what?" I asked, stuttering, voice dry.

"Did Lucas say anything to you, when you were over there?"

Thoughts snapping to the young boy and our encounter, my heart continued to ache, thinking back to Charlie again, and the picture I'd drawn. Charlie's fire, his deathbed. "No, no, we just colored a little." Shaking my head, brows furrowed in confusion, I got up completely, stretching my surprisingly numb legs as I wandered to where they were. Dean sat in a chair pulled next to Sam, who was scribbling something in front of his open laptop. Standing behind them, I gazed out the window, wondering what was on the laptop but not wanting to intrude. "Why?" I asked.

"Look," Dean said, pointing at something on the screen. It was a newspaper article—pictured there was Lucas, wrapped in a blanket, looking shell shocked. I read through it quickly, hand covering my open mouth.

"His dad was a victim," I paraphrased, voice surprisingly calm for the pain I felt for Lucas.

"No body—same MO," Sam said absently. "Whatever is doing the killings now has been for the past thirty-five years. Only it's picking up its speed."

"Question is, why?" Dean asked. "Why now?"

My mind darted back to sitting in that room with the sheriff. "Well, you don't actually think it's Nessie, do you?" I asked suddenly. Approaching the situation from a different angle, thinking not of Lucas, but of the mystery, I could treat it like a riddle rather than a personal case. It was easier than drawing those connections between Charlie and Lucas's father.

"No. There's hundreds of Nessie sightings, but none of…well, whatever this is," Sam said, looking up at me with sincerity. "Monsters aren't this well hidden…and they'd get found with a sonar sweep and water drag. It's something else, something going in and out, most likely; but no tracks…" Sam trailed off, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. Then he seemed to realize I was standing there, having forgotten me in his musings. "Why?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, the sheriff said the dam is breaking—the lake won't last much longer. If I was a monster, I'd…I'd probably, you know."

"Stock up," Dean said, lips quirked in a not-quite-smile, nodding. "Makes sense."

"Still," Sam said, "I just don't think it's a monster."

"Well," Dean continued, glancing at me and then back to Sam, face blank, eyes squinted slightly in thought, "if there's one person who knows…"

"His mom said something about the park, at three," Sam said, nodding to what Dean didn't have to say. "It's three twenty."

Dean and Sam both stood quickly—shocked at the sudden action, and not realizing how close I was to them, I started back—losing my footing easily, I began to fall. A quick grab of my shirt had me dangling, fabric digging uncomfortably into my shoulders and sides as Dean hauled me back upright. He patted me on the shoulder, quirking that signature smirk. "Watch yourself," was all he said, walking past me and out the door. Sam followed quickly after, and I took a moment to recompose myself before, as usual, trailing them.

The ride was quiet, all in their own thoughts, and it didn't take us long to find the main-square park. We could see Andrea there, looking out at Lucas, who was kneeling like earlier, drawing. Silent, secluded, my heart ached to go to him. I stayed with the boys, however, walking up to Andrea first.

"Mind if we join you?" Sam asked quietly. She looked up, offering a light chuckle and a second glance to Dean.

"I'm with my son," she said, voice harder than before, intending to stave us off. Before Dean could get off his next witty remark, however, I gripped my cactus—when had I brought that here? I'd last had it in the hotel room. I supposed I'd subconsciously brought it, the one thing that had been giving me some strange comfort through everything.

Stepping forward, cactus behind me and out of her sight, I licked my lips and cleared my dry throat, "Can I…can I talk to him?"

She offered me a small smile, "I won't stop you, but…he hasn't spoken in a long time. To anyone."

I nodded to her, taking that as my cue to go ahead. I dodged the jump rope and the tag on my way, feeling the eyes of the three other adults burning into my back. Cactus in my hands, I stroked the bristles, steeling myself and wondering just what I planned to say.

"Hey…um, Lucas." I knelt awkwardly before him, looking around at his set up. To my left, a pile of drawings, and to my right, a pile of clean paper; bordering everything, little green soldier figurines. They looked old, well beyond their wear, and I wondered how often Lucas once played with them.

"My dad used to have these," I said, wincing as I wondered what the word 'dad' did to him. Looking unaffected, continuing on with his current drawing, I picked up an army man, twirling him in my hand. "I was never a toy person," I blurted, unsure of myself. I didn't know what I wanted to accomplish by talking to him, but I felt it to be more important than sitting there and listening to the boys charm Andrea into revealing whatever she knew about her husband.

And, truth be told, there was something else I didn't like about being around her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I didn't let it bother me. For now, it was Lucas and I here. As I set the man down, I noticed a corner of paper beneath his drawings—pulling it out, I saw the warm hues of the drawing I'd left him earlier.

Heart swelling, equal parts pain and pride, I wondered if he'd kept it intentionally. Deciding it probably was an accident, swept together with the others, I didn't get ahead of myself. "No, I was more of a pet person—I always wanted a bird," smiling as I remembered Renee's exasperation at my begging, I flicked an army man, knocking him over. Lucas scribbled on, switching colors. "But my mom would never let me have a pet. She didn't want the responsibility." I chuckled lightly, emptily, hoping to get him to look at me as he did at the station.

Getting nowhere, I cleared my throat. Picking up another piece of paper and a brown crayon, I began to draw, this time knowing that I was drawing a forest. "I'll just draw with you," I stated lamely. "Because I know how it feels to not want to talk."

He seemed to react, only slightly, a barely-there shift in his demeanor. Sensing an opening, I edged on, keeping my words personal to me. "I didn't want to talk for a long time, not too long ago…" I paused, wondering how far I could take this. I wanted to show him we had a connection, a small one, but that I knew his pain.

"I—I know what happened, Lucas," I began. "I know about your dad. And I want you to know about mine. I lost him, too," sighing, I shifted my position, accidentally bumping the cactus and sending it rolling a few feet away from me. Too preoccupied, I let it go. "I didn't want to talk to anyone…not even my mom. She gave up not too long after…but your mom hasn't."

He looked up. Kept my gaze for a moment, steady brown eyes, filled with pain. That motherly part of me urged me to bring him to me in a deep hug, but I kept my position, biting my lip and holding his gaze. He broke it, seconds later, resuming his drawing. "Anyway," I began. "There's a lot of things we don't understand. And no one expects you to understand what happened, or why, or…or to just get over it." I paused again, wondering if I was talking to him or just to myself. Parts both, I swallowed heavily, feeling Dean's presence slowly approach behind me.

"It's not that easy," I said softly. "And I know that. I just…" pausing, unsure of myself with Dean's appearance, now seated on the bench where I'd grabbed the empty paper from, I looked up at him. His eyes were intense, on me as I spoke. Holding his gaze, I felt that silent communication—he urged me to continue with a slight nod. Feeling as if he'd breathed confidence into me, I looked back down at my drawing. "Time to switch to green," I mused out loud.

"And I just want you to know, Lucas, that I'm here." I paused again, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth. "I won't be here long, but while I am, I'll be here for you—even if it doesn't matter that much to you." I chuckled that same, empty chuckle. Lucas was no longer looking at me, closed off anew at Dean's presence, shrinking away from him.

"I will too, Lucas," Dean interjected. I continued drawing, glancing up to find his green eyes solely on Lucas, sympathetic—no, empathetic. "Because I lost someone too, like you and Bella here."

He paused, stealing paper and a crayon. I'd stopped drawing in favor at looking at him, now in awe at the story he seemed about to weave. He drew, focusing on his movements on the paper as he spoke, "You might think no one will listen, or care—or maybe believe you, about what you saw." Dean sucked in a breath, and I felt my heart fluttering for him, his pain, now palpable, alongside Lucas's. His words were sincere, touching. I wondered what he'd been through, in this life. What had happened to him.

"But Bella here—she will. And so will I." Dean paused, both in his words and in his movements, brow furrowing as he looked down at the paper, glancing to me. Suddenly flustered at being caught staring, I looked back to my inactive hands, making more leaves on my forest. "You don't even have to say anything," Dean said, smile in his voice—kind, smooth, light. "You can draw us a picture."

Long silence. Lucas was unresponsive as ever, drawing away. "That's a nice rocket ship," I commented. "Purple is one of my favorite colors."

Dean seemed shocked out of a reverie as I spoke again, seeming to just realize I was there with them. "Mine too," he said, looking at Lucas's busy hands as he created the spokes on a perfect little sun in the corner. "Well—I'm not as good an artist as you or Bella here," Dean said, glancing at my drawing. Having finished, I smiled, holding it up.

"It's a forest," I said, "Like Forks. Where I used to live. Where my dad lived." Smile fading, I set it down next to Lucas's used pile.

"Mine is my family." Dean held up his drawing proudly, four little stick figures holding hands. "That's my dad," he said, pointing. His hand moved to the next one, a woman, and his voice grew choked, "and that…that's my mom." Skipping the next boy, he went to the smallest, "That's my geek brother," smiling, glancing at Lucas, he pointed to the last one. "And that's me."

Feeling tears in my eyes and not sure why, I looked away from the picture. "Alright, so I'm a sucky artist," Dean said, voice light again. "I guess…" I looked up at him, and we caught gazes again. "I'll see you around, Lucas," Dean said, not breaking my gaze until he stood, setting his picture down and walking away.

I bit my lip, taking that as time for me to leave as well. I looked to my side, where my cactus had rolled. Gripping it, I moved to get up, but stopped. "This makes me feel safe," I said, looking down at the plant in my hands, flourishing. "It reminds me of a time before everything happened to me."

I set it lightly next to him. "I want you to have it. I hope it makes you feel safe, too."

Getting up, I could think of nothing more to say. I left him there, drawing, not bothering to even look at what I'd given him.

I entered the conversation late, Andrea talking about Lucas. Tears in her eyes, my heart wrenched at the tone of her voice as she went on to talk about his changed behavior since the accident, mother's love evident each time she glanced over my shoulder at where he kneeled, drawing on that bench.

"And now he just sits there," she sighed, "drawing pictures and playing with those old army men." She shifted, smiling, wiping away tears and looking down behind me—I felt another presence. "Hey honey," she said, stooping down. But Lucas didn't acknowledge her, instead squeezing into the space between Dean and I.

First, he gave Dean a drawing. And then, in his other hand, he offered me a small army man. We both took our gifts, and Lucas swiftly left. "Thanks, Lucas," Dean and I said, words in sync. Sam leaned over to look at the picture, and I kept my eyes trained on the little army man, twirling him around and around much as I had the first one—but then something else caught my eye. Little initials on the bottom—_C.B._ Christopher Barr.

Biting my lip, I looked up at Andrea. Her eyes were wide with shock, looking between Dean and I in disbelief. She said nothing more, just staring at us—Dean and Sam exchanged their usual glances before both looked to me. Nodding along with them, though unsure of what I was agreeing to, they then urged me to follow as we left Andrea there. Sam said parting words over his shoulder, but I lost them—instead thinking of Dean, and his words, and the genuine tone of his voice. I glanced at him, walking by my side. He looked normal again, face blank of emotion as he walked his confident, bow-legged stride. Yet now I could look at him and wonder what was hidden beneath that exterior he kept up so well.

A loss was hard. And he'd lost someone.

Thoughts oddly blank on the way to the motel, I relished the silence of the car. All of us contemplative at Lucas's display and his mother's consequential shock, no one said a word. Lynyrd Skynyrd was in the background, a softer song, and it lulled me into a blank hum. As I sat there, thinking of nothing, I noticed that I was oddly content with the boys in this leather car.

However, pulling up, I suddenly thought of the sleeping arrangements, which brought me more fear than before. What would I do tonight, while dreaming, that I would regret tomorrow? Bunking with Dean was a scary thought, and I thought for a moment on the odds of Victoria coming to kill me before I had to do it.

The thoughts faded as we sat for a small while, Sam on his laptop and Dean and I on separate beds, television blaring before us; however, I knew Dean was doing exactly as I was, looking at Lucas's gift and wondering the meaning behind it. The army man was a warm, now familiar weight in my hand as I spun him round and round—I knew it must have been a response to my cactus. I'd given him something that I felt safe with, so he gave me his father's old toy. To keep safe.

Smiling to myself, I looked up. It had gotten dark out, and just as I looked to Sam in curiosity—was he still researching, perhaps?—my stomach grumbled loudly. Dean looked over to me with his crooked smile. "You know, I second that motion."

Sam glanced up as well. "I could go for some food. It's pretty late though—twenty-four hour drive through," he warned, standing up and stretching. He quickly closed his laptop, looking back at Dean.

The older brother nodded, digging out the keys and throwing them to Sam. With a perfect catch, the other man walked out the door, not bothering to ask what we wanted. Not that I really cared, as I was hungry enough to eat about anything.

Yet, in the meantime, I suddenly felt awkward with just Dean here, thinking of how I'd be forced to sleep next to him later. Unable to sit in silence, I reminded myself of how dirty I was. "Mind if I shower?" I asked. He only nodded, gesturing to the door as a go-ahead.

Grabbing my small duffle and bringing it in with me, I shut the door and locked it—not so much out of paranoia of the boys, but of habit. The controls on the shower took a small forever to decipher, but soon the hot water beat onto my skin. The pressure was weak at best, but the heat lasted long, and soon I felt myself drifting into an almost coma of relaxation. Washing up quickly but unable to force myself out of the warmth, I simply stood under the water with my thoughts, time passing quickly. I had most likely been in the shower for over an hour, the heat still going strong, and I mused on whether or not Sam was back with the food yet.

Comfort won out over hunger, though, and I told myself that I'd just condition once more before getting out. However, as I turned to do so, I heard muffled yells. Stricken, I looked to the door through the crack in the curtain. Deciding the boys were arguing, I shrunk back and decided to wait out the fight instead of taking the chance of walking into it.

As I stared at the door, however, my heart skipped a beat. Feeling the crack more than hearing it, the door burst open, banging against the counter, wood chips flying forth, pattering the walls and mirror. I felt myself scream, not quite hearing it, jumping back out of shock. Slipping in the water, I attempted to catch myself before falling, grabbing onto something for support—my searching hands found the curtain, gripping it tightly. The rod cracked, coming down with me, curtain wrapping around me as I fell and hit my head harshly on the tub.

A fierce ringing in my ears and harsh pain on my head caused me to stay where I was, lying down in the tub, safely wrapped in the shower curtain. Both boys gazed down at me, shocked at what they'd seen. Too in pain to really care about them barging in, I blinked up at them.

"We—" Sam stuttered.

"Wanted to make sure you were okay," Dean finished, swallowing heavily, looking me up and down—though more out of concern than lechery, it seemed—"and uh, you're okay, so…" They left quickly, door tilting on its hinges and unable to shut.

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling, more alert now that the pain and the ringing had faded. I wondered what had caused them to run in here how they had? I tried to muster anger, but could only cough up faint disbelief. Heart stuttering at a horribly fast rate, I shakily rose, turning off the water and climbing out, dressing in loose pajamas.

Walking out soaked, having not bothered to dry myself, I stopped, clinging to the doorway for support. "What—what?"

"I drove past the Carlton house," Sam said, not looking up at me. Dean also averted my gaze. "There was an ambulance—Will Carlton died."

Sitting down on the bed nearest me, I swallowed harshly. "That's…awful," I croaked.

"Yeah, but get this—he drowned. Anyway, Dean and I figured out that all the water in the city comes from the lake—something is controlling it, drowning people, including people in residential areas. And when we realized what that meant, and you were in the shower…"

I filled in the blanks for myself. "Thank you," I near-whispered.

Both men snapped their gazes to me, "You're not mad?" they said in sync.

I shook my head, pursing my lips, and offering a weak laugh. "I want to be, but—you were saving me…again. So, thank you."

Sam nodded. "It's what we do."

"Well, I'm beat, I don't know about you two," Dean said, quickly switching topics. "So I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Good idea," Sam said, untying his boots at his chair. "We can interview Bill Carlton tomorrow." He threw his shoes aside, going to the bed Dean was on. The older brother quickly moved to my—our—bed, lying back, leaving generous room for me. I scooted up to my spot, careful not to touch him, lying down as far away as possible without falling off. Feeling tense and awkward, I stared at the ceiling, eyes open, even as Sam shut off the table lamp.

"Why Bill?" I asked.

"Well—Christopher Barr was his godson. The other two were his kids. He has to know something," Dean said matter-of-factly. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, noting how his position mirrored mine—arms crossed behind the head, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

"Ah," I responded lamely, unable to say anything more. Truthfully, I was tired, and it began to really set in as my eyelids drooped.

Dean startled me out of my daze, "Sorry for barging in and making you fall," he coughed gruffly at the end, licking his lips. "Sam said you were probably okay but I had to make sure, so I kicked the door in."

I didn't respond, eyes shut now—I felt his gaze on me, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. However, amidst that tense awkwardness I felt, something warm burrowed at his words. A mix between gratitude and something else.

Before I could overanalyze, as I was so wont to do, I forced myself into sleep.


	15. Dead in the Water - 3

_**Well here we go! You may notice, in your little email, that I changed my name—because I got bored of the old one and wanted to try something new. I thought I'd be witty, but I doubt I'm fooling any of you…well shoot.**_

_**Continuing on, I would like to personally apologize to Sandra of the Washington USA—I promise you that I did attempt to get this done before Monday, when you started your job, but was unable. I hope however that Tuesday is close enough, and wish you luck in your new workplace! ~**_

_**I'd like to, on that note, thank every reader and reviewer and subscriber and favoriter (favoriter? favoritee? favoratitis?) collectively—I know I don't reply, finding myself just too busy to do so, especially when you factor in PMs (which I do reply to, after a while at least) but I do read them all and love them! You guys really keep me going with your enthusiasm for the story!**_

_**Also, to add on to the above, I promise to reply to every review for chapter 15! Probably not "promptly," but if you review for chapter 15, I will respond to said review with happiness and love and rainbows and kittens.**_

_**Now, like I said, there might be continuity errors after restarting a dead story when it's been so long, and I'm talking specifically about a scene in this chapter where Dean gives Bella his number and vice versa. I thought to myself, as I was writing, that maybe this had already happened…but I wasn't sure and I honestly didn't have time to read through to see if it had. So, let's just pretend it didn't and move along, shall we!**_

_**And scene. No more notes…that I can think of, anyway. Another chapter, continuing with Dead in the Water, woohoo! Next chapter *should* finish this episode. I thought I'd get it done in this chapter, BUT ALAS I NEVER KEEP MY PROMISES ANYWAY SO REALLY SHAME ON YOU FOR EXPECTING ANYTHING. ~shameshame~**_

_**Ahem. Well, this note is starting to dwarf the chapter. How sad. I apologize, and do hope you enjoy reading! Hugs and kisses!**_

"Bella—Bella!" I snapped into awareness immediately, my first sight being Dean's face—recognizable even in the scarce light of the hotel room. The other details flooded in, such as one of those so-warm hands on my shoulder as he shook me awake, leaning above me on the bed we shared. Seeming to realize I was awake, he blinked, slowly letting go of my shoulder and sitting up.

I sat up after a moment, startled awake and unsure if I was truly aware or still dreaming, I looked at him. His back was tense as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, digging his palms into his eyes, sighing. He looked beaten up, and I suddenly felt awful for interrupting his sleep. "I'm sorry," I began.

He cut me off, "It's fine." There was a moment of silence, and I heard a muffled groaning, as if coming from another room. Hearing it as well, Dean got up, stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles. "You're not the one that woke me up in the first place," he tacked on as an afterthought. He looked to Sam's bed pointedly, where the large mass that was the other man fidgeted, turning, restless, but still otherwise asleep. Sam, too, was having a nightmare. I processed this sluggishly.

"Does he get them all the time?"

"Yeah, since." He cut himself short there, looked at me, and sighed. I didn't urge him to continue further.

The sleep was wearing in on me again; the blanket draped on my thighs pulled me in, seducing me into that dream land. Its beckoning became too much, but I didn't want to rush Dean back into bed, either. He was still standing, looking down at Sam, scowl on his face. I took that moment to wonder what the hell I was doing, so eager to go back to sharing a bed with a man I barely knew. Quickly snapping out of that dastardly _logic,_ I instead followed Dean's eyes.

"Why don't you wake him up? Like for me?"

Dean shook his head. "They get worse when I do. And it hurts his pride to know I know about 'em." I nodded in response, finally having the man turn to me. He glanced to the end table, finally sighing and turning it off, climbing back into bed.

I snuggled back down into my previous position, a good foot and a half between Dean and I. "Thank you," I said after a moment. "For waking me up. Stopping the nightmare."

"No problem," he said. He took a long, deep breath, and then I saw a faint flicker of light from his direction. I looked over at it, spotting the toy soldier he twirled in his hands, glinting in the sparse moonlight that filtered unevenly from the window.

That soldier brought back the memories of the dream—the nightmare. Fire, yellow eyes, awful monsters and Edward dying alongside Charlie, red-headed vampires lunging for my throat—awful pictures, one by one, a horrible slideshow. I took a shuddering breath, urge to cry sweeping over me again, the weight of the world crashing down on my lungs. I struggled to breathe correctly; tears flowing freely like a faucet had just been turned on. Partially hating myself for those sudden emotions, the crying only worsened.

"Hey now," Dean said softly, "don't cry." I couldn't stop, however, and somehow his words made it impossibly worse. I thought of the awful things I'd said, reminding him of the accident, of what had happened—I held no real grudge against him, truthfully. It had been that one situation where I just needed him to _listen_…

"I'm sorry about making you feel bad," I choked, words sounding scratchy, hiccoughing, struggling for the air to push through the rest of my apology, "I never blamed you for the accident."

He took another deep sigh. I expected him to say nothing—yet instead, I felt his hand on mine, taking hold of it much like my mother would when she comforted me—squeeze, soft, reassuring. I felt him try to take the hand away, and in a desperate response, I held fast to his hand, squeezing back.

Getting my hint, Dean remained there. Arms stretched to the limit, meeting in that awkward hand-hold. This contact with that warm hand—the hand that had brushed my face in that awful moment of awareness when I'd woken up on the pavement after the accident—the hand that held mine and led me around my house—the hand that gently treated the injuries after my other nightmare-induced breakdown—it all allowed me to slowly drift into a more comfortable sleep, still crying.

* * *

Waking up was a slow process, eyes feeling crusty and dry. I refused to open them, even after coming into awareness. I was curled into a ball, and I felt my precarious perch on the edge, back toward Dean. Hearing moving about me, I knew he was no longer in bed, which I was grateful for; I didn't want to face him just yet. Clinging to the memories of last night's little intrusion, I was quickly going from comforted to appalled. I had known I would embarrass myself, and my suspicions proved painfully true. I'd forced him to hold my hand after blubbering on, crying over a _nightmare_—what was I thinking? According to him, he and his family _hunted_ nightmares for a living. How could I expect him to allow me to tag along on demon-killing adventures when my inner demons could take me over so easily?

Now really hoping that I didn't have to open my eyes, but knowing that the time would soon come, I did so slowly. Sitting up, I was met with Dean and Sam, not speaking, putting on their respective boots. Sam spotted me first. "Bella," he said, "we were just going to wake you up."

I nodded, humming lightly in response, trying so hard to keep my eyes on Sam's face but watch Dean in my peripheral. To my relief, there was no reaction to me, no strange tension on his part, and it seemed as if the incident was wholly forgotten. Sighing internally with ease, sagging back into bed a little, I allowed myself another smile for Sam, still looking at me, confused as to why I'd stared at him so intensely.

Shaking my thoughts away, I nodded again, hopping out of bed and directly to my feet. Not the best course of action, but I quickly caught myself on the wall. "What's going on today?"

"Well," Dean answered, "we figured out last night that it's not a monster—because of the pipes thing and all—"

"You said Will died last night—where did he drown?" I interrupted quietly, glancing between him and Sam. They looked at each other briefly, Sam pursing his lips.

"In the sink," the younger brother answered.

"Right. Anyway," Dean continued, not bothered by the interruption, but seeming more in a hurry than anything. "We're stopping by the Carlton house. My main man Bill is at the center of things, and we're gonna try to figure out why."

Locating my shoes, which had been tucked under the bed, I sat down and mimicked the boys' actions, slipping them on and tying them. As I did so, my curiosity—and part excitement—got to me. I felt closer to figuring out what was going on, and the idea of solving such a real life mystery was making my nerves tingle. However, I couldn't help but wonder what the boys were thinking. Adept at this "hunting" thing, they knew more than I did.

"What uh—what do you think it is?" I asked, tightening the last of my bow.

Sam shrugged. "Water wraith, demon, nymph—there's lots of things that control water. Something's obviously got a grudge with Bill."

I nodded in response, unsure of what to say. Wraiths? Nymphs? I was still struggling with _demons_, and suddenly more supernatural creatures were popping into my plane of existence. Equal parts scared and excited, I grabbed my jacket and followed the boys on the way out of the motel room—but not before I stopped to grab the toy soldier.

The ride to the Carlton house was quiet, yet not unpleasant. However, as we drove, an awful feeling grew in my stomach.

We pulled up, Dean parking quick and jerky, as he always seemed to. Getting out, I walked alongside them instead of hanging in back. Bill Carlton was sitting on the dock at his bench, looking out at the water, hands clasped together. Sam and Dean shared a look with me as well—a small part of me noted how included I felt, in that moment. Brushing it off, I allowed Sam to take the lead, "Mister Carlton? We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

There was a pause. The man stared up at us, eyes empty, and a pang formed in my chest, remembering Charlie with that same expression. "We're from the uh, the Department—" Dean began.

Bill cut him off swiftly, "I don't care who you're with." His voice was soft, but empty. "I've answered enough questions today." Dean looked back at me, lifting a suspicious eyebrow. For a moment, I felt the pit in my stomach tighten. Something bad was going on in Bill Carlton's mind—beyond the grief of a mourning father, and I knew Dean felt it too.

"Your son said he saw something in that lake," Sam continued, softer now, but forceful. "What about you? You ever see anything out there?"

Again, silence. He stared out at the lake. The cool air brushed our faces lightly with the smell of water, ducks quacking in response to the gust. Peaceful, serene, but not right. Something was wrong here. I somehow knew that Dean—and most likely Sam too—sensed it.

"Mister Carlton—Will's death and Sophie's drowning. We think there might be a connection—to you, or your family—"

Louder, crackling voice, still not looking at us, Bill Carlton interrupted again, "My children are dead. It's…it's worse than dying." Choking up, tears falling, and trembling with suppressed sobs, the man gazed up at us. His eyes were empty, his shell broken. Heart wrenching in my chest, I met his stare and held it for a long moment of silence. He looked to the boys, not receiving the response he'd hoped for, and shook his head.

His eyes returned to the lake. "Go away…please."

Respectfully, silently, we filed off the dock and toward the car. However, I felt reluctant to leave—hesitating at the end of the dock, the boys stopped and looked at me. Sam seemed confused by my slow pace, but Dean's eyes were calculating. "He's hiding something," he said gruffly, smoothing out his leather jacket. "I just don't know what."

"Let's go look through some things, try to figure it out?" Sam supplied, trying again to urge us to the car.

"I don't feel comfortable…leaving him like this." I thought back to Charlie again, unable to leave this man in all his grief. I looked to the boys in hopes of a positive answer. Sam looked dubious, but Dean jumped at the opportunity.

"I don't trust him," the older brother said, glancing at the man in question once again. "We're gonna figure this out—you got a cell, Bella?"

I nodded, finding it in my jacket pocket and pulling it out. Taking it, Dean clicked a few buttons, pulling out his own phone and recording my number in it. "We'll call you if we need anything. I saved my number so you can do the same. Watch him, alright? We'll figure this out, but don't let that man outta your sight."

I nodded again, eager this time, feeling mildly relieved at being allowed to stay. A small piece of me hoped to make it up to Charlie by staying to comfort this man—the rest was obliging that pit in my stomach that didn't let me leave.

The boys walked to the car, stopping to talk over the hood for a few moments. I didn't linger, instead going back out on the dock to stand next to Bill. "Mind if I sit down?" I asked quietly.

He looked at me with watery eyes. "I thought I told you to leave." A statement rather than a question.

"I won't ask you any more questions," I quickly defended. "I just…want to keep you company."

"Don't bother," he muttered, but seemed to accept that I was sitting anyway. Taking my place curled on the dock, I stared out at the water as well. The peaceful air actually allowed me to clear my mind as we shared the silence—though the pit in my stomach did not ease up, I was able to shove all thought aside and look out at the water.

This went on for an extended period of time. Not particularly thinking about anything, floating in lull, I simply sat and kept Bill company as he mourned quietly. We both jumped at a sudden, shrill interruption. I pulled my phone forth with shaky hands, hopping to my feet and scurrying away, down the dock where I couldn't disturb Bill. "Hello?"

"Bella," Dean said. His voice sounded sped up, almost frantic but not quite. "I think we figured it out."

"Really?" I responded, partially disappointed that I hadn't been there to put the clues together. "What's going on?"

"It's a spirit," he said. "Bill Carlton killed this kid back in the seventies—we think he's coming back to kill all of Bill's family."

I nodded and hummed affirmation, but then a thought struck me. "Why not just…you know, kill Bill?" Being in such close proximity to the man I was talking about, I felt uncomfortable. The pit solidified, burning a whole into my insides, and I grew restless, gazing up at the trees before me.

"When we were talking to Pete's mom—the ghost—she said Pete up and disappeared. Then, get this, she said it was 'worse than dying.'"

I nodded again, shuffling the phone into my other hand, kicking at a stray pebble. "So Pete is making Bill feel the same way his mom felt?"

"Ace in the hole," Dean responded. A bit of pride flared in my chest. "Anyway, just keep Bill under wraps until we can get back to lay a few more questions on him."

"Oh yeah," I said, again shifting the phone and turning around to look at Bill. "I got hi—" stopping short. My heart leapt. _Oh no._

"Oh no what?" Dean said. His voice rose in pitch. "Bella, what's 'oh no?'"

The phone, and Dean's voice, clattered to the ground. "_Mister Carlton!_" I screamed. He was starting up the boat, going into dangerous waters, and my mind clicked—_like Charlie, he wanted to die._ "No, Bill!" I shouted again, sprinting toward him. I was lucky to be close enough that, as the boat began to idle away from the shore, I could jump in—the boat teetered, and Carlton made a loud guffaw of protest.

"What're you—!" But it was too late. He was holding the rudder, and his hand on the button made the motor start up. We began speeding out toward the center of the lake, and finally that pit truly sank all the way through me. I was on the boat with the one person that ghost wanted dead most, heading out into the middle of the lake the ghost controlled, and I _couldn't swim_.

Panicking and yet eerily calm, I crouched down and tried to reason with Bill, whose eyes were frantic, but determined. I would not get in his way. "Bill, I know you feel bad about Pete, but—"

"You don't know nothin' about Petey!" he yelled at me, nostrils flaring, tears mingling with the water spraying us from the boat. "You don't know nothin'!" Sobbing, outraged, staring at me with hard eyes, "And now you're gonna die too, you stupid girl!"

Swallowing the lump in my throat, tears in my eyes—whether from the wind whipping my face or from that sinking feeling of dread, I couldn't tell—I gripped closer to my side of the boat, making it rock dangerously to and fro. Heart leaping unevenly, running at a pace faster than should be possible, I found it hard to speak. Labored breaths impeded on my words, "I know—I know you—I know you want to…to die, but…" I was hyperventilating, getting dizzy. "But you have to turn around—you have to…"

Faint calls. We both heard them—I was the only one to turn and look. The boys were on the shore, waving frantically, running up the dock toward us. I was crouched down as far as possible as they shouted for _"Mister Carlton!" _and I suddenly wondered if they could even see me.

Realizing my cavalry had come and deciding not to waste it, I jumped up. Again, the boat rocked dangerously, but I hooked my feet under the wooden seat. I waved my arms, now breathing too heavily to shout back at them.

Their running quickened, their yelling even louder. _"Bella!"_

I had nothing to say. Bill Carlton was silent now, aside from his weeping, and the roar of the motor took over, carrying the boys' voices away. The pit in my stomach abruptly lightened, just for an instant.

And then I was thrown forward, the boat keening under me, Bill Carlton yelling. Colors flashed before my eyes as I spun in the air—I took a breath before hitting the cold water. Eyes open, I watched the boat barely miss my head as it skittered forward in the water, back toward the land. Somehow alive after falling out and dodging the boat, I looked around for Bill Carlton. Turning in the water, three things caught my eye, my world moving in slow motion.

The first being a mane of red—flash of fire, too noticeable to miss, I didn't know what it was. It grew closer, but then slunk away suddenly. Unable to process what I'd seen, I kept turning in my search for Bill. My lungs began to burn as I sank deeper into the surprisingly strong undercurrent of the lake. As I searched, I finally saw him—Bill, splashing, stuck underwater by the current like I was. He looked at me, eyes wide, frantic—I met his gaze only to realize he wasn't looking at me. I turned to see what he was staring at, heart thumping at the thought of Dean and Sam come swimming to save us.

Said heart froze in fear, becoming pure ice, as the remaining breath was knocked out of my lungs as a muffled scream. The boy before me was young, skin ashen, hair dark. His veins were dark blue and protruding from his thin skin, lips and nose and ears light blue with cold, face wrinkled like a prune, similar to fingers after being in the bath too long. His eyes were bloodshot, caked with black—he reeked of death even underwater, and his hard gaze on mine seemed to turn my insides to stone. Before my eyes, he dissipated into nothing.

I sucked in the air I'd released, finding only water there as I spun and splashed in desperation to get away from the spot the boy had previously been in. I turned to see Bill Carlton disappearing downward, being dragged by a pale little body, whose eyes once again met mine before fading into the depths below. Unable to see either of them anymore, my tears fizzled into the lake around me as I sputtered forth another watery scream, swiping at the water to bring myself up. But the undertow continued, bringing me downward. I sucked in more water, lungs burning, limbs turning cold—the surface was slowly disappearing, darkening as I began to follow Bill Carlton and the ghost down toward the bottom of the lake, water pressing down on all sides. It grew hard to struggle, and I was bombarded with this awful tired feeling. I just wanted to sleep.

And, as I realized my cavalry wasn't coming after all, I shut my eyes to do just that.


	16. Dead in the Water - 4

_**Alright – quick little post-y! I answered all the reviews to date, aside from three – my little lovelies who don't have an account, yet still sign in as a guest to review for me! It's wonderful, guys, and thank you!**_

_**Samantha 1987: Your wish is my command, and here I am with more!**_

_**Guest: Yessir, I hope this is fast enough! :)**_

_**Sandra: I know, I'm just awful, aren't I? :P I hope this is ASAP enough, but I had unexpected company all week and some people just really know how to overstay their welcome. However, home sweet home is all to myself again and I sat down to get busy! I'm happy you like your new job and I hope every day goes as well as Monday! And I also hope you're not on the edge of your seat any more – for now, lol~**_

_**Well that's it for the note! Happy reading! Pip pip cheerio, I say!**_

Hell smelled awful. I couldn't bring myself to open my weighed down eyelids, only take in the smell; like decay, garbage. There was an awful silence that seemed so dense it created literal pressure on my eardrums—then, far off, I noticed muffled voices. I clamped my eyes further, wondering who would come to pay me a visit in the land of fire and brimstone. Then, that thought spurred me to realize that the legends were right about burning for eternity.

At the moment, the burning was centered in my chest. It seemed I still needed to breathe in Hell, but my ability to do so was dubious at best. Each breath I took was labored, hoarse, and made my insides burn like hot coals. For a brief moment, my mind flashed to Brutus's Portia, and I felt I truly knew her pain.

I sat there, stagnant for some time, body stiff and breathing heavy. My insides continued to burn, and my body was littered with jabbing pains. My muscles took turns cramping. I felt myself shaking, but couldn't stop.

Finally venturing to open my eyes, I hissed at the light I found there. Filtering in directly onto my face, I soon closed them again—still coughing, breaths coming in stutters, I brought my stone-like arms up to shield my eyes. That's when the voices grew louder, clear, as I felt the familiar dribble of water coming from my ears.

"Bella," Sam's voice. "Bella, are you okay?"

Feeling bile rise in my throat, I wondered what sort of Hell this was. In no mood for games, "I just drowned…you tell me?"

"There's the feisty girl I love!" came another voice, farther above me, and too chipper for my frayed nerves. The pain, however, began to recede as I climbed into awareness. I shifted my still numb limbs around, making my muscles spasm with new movement and increased blood flow. I was able to identify the jabbing pains below me as rocks and twigs. Lower down, my feet seemed to sink into the giving grown. On my neck, there was the tickle of grass—all of which made me question whether or not I'd ended up in Hell.

Groaning, I voiced my concerns, "Is this really Hell?"

There was laughing. I tried again to open my eyes, squinting them. The light of the gray sky brought me to Earth—no, no Hell.

Still, Dean, who was now looking down at me with a smirk, humored me. "Yeah. Not what you were expecting, huh?"

Once again finding my mood sour, and not yet totally aware of what had happened, I rolled my sore eyes. "No. I thought I'd finally get away from you."

Not any of us were expecting my anger, or my rather witty quips. However, it was short lived, and soon I just felt drained and cold. My head, which had raised itself on a craned neck, fell back onto the grass below me. Yet, though drained, clammy, and feeling empty, I was able to silently rejoice in being alive.

It took mere moments, though, to remember that I was the only one. Bill had been dragged down, along with that boy—his awful smell still lingered in my nose. What I had thought was burning flesh was actually that deathly stench. "It smells…" I said aloud, thoughtfully, wondering why it was so poignant that it still lingered, possibly my most vivid memory of the whole ordeal.

"Like a rusty electrical fire mixed with burning hair?" Sam asked, voice soft, sympathetic to me. I looked at him, meeting his warm eyes, shocked he'd known exactly the stench I was stuck with. Mustering a nod, he returned the gesture. "That's ozone and death—you get used to it. It's the smell of a strong angry spirit. Your first time smelling it can keep it with you for…well, days. Maybe a week." He reached out a hand at the end of his speech. Though I wanted to take it, I wasn't able to fathom the strength, and instead swallowed heavily and let out a breath, the burning in my water-logged lungs still present, but able to be ignored.

Seeming to realize my difficulty, Sam instead wrapped solid fingers around either shoulder, guiding me into a sitting position. I toddled for a moment after he let me go, not sure whether or not I'd fall backwards or stay up. Eventually I gained my balance. "I…I'm so weak."

"You were full on dead. Sam here…" Dean tilted his head to the side, looking away. "Well…let's just say he saved you." Sam subconsciously wiped at his mouth. I didn't know what to make of that, and let it fall to the wayside. Shivering at another gust of wind, I realized that like me, Sam's hair was matted to his head, clothes darkened with water. I looked to Dean, in a similar state.

"Thank you. Um—what do we…?"

"Do now?" Dean shrugged. "I called the sheriff. He said he's on his way down. We'll talk a bit when he gets here." As if on cue, a police cruiser came swerving around the corner. The expression on the sheriff's face as he slammed his car door gave me the strength to struggle up. It didn't take me long to fall heavily onto Sam, who coped easily with my weight, arm placed gingerly around my back as he readjusted my hand to grip his shoulder. It was awkward for us, with me so short and him so tall, but he stooped and held there for me.

"Well, I'll be." The sheriff circled the shore a few times, walking up and down, staring at the lake in what seemed to be mild surprise and mostly anger. "Not much to do here. Let's get back to the station."

Dean chuckled a little, trailing off at the look he received. "Can we at least get changed first, or…?"

"No."

Clearing his throat, the elder brother nodded for lack of any other response. The sheriff was quick to get back into his own car, still running, and waiting for us to get into Dean's. We did, with some struggle on my part, and the drive was a quiet one, following the blaring siren of the sheriff.

The boys seemed distracted, but made it a point to glance at me on occasion. I wasn't able to make conversation, focusing on thoughts of my brief death and revival. I thought of the three things I'd seen, all of which disturbing in their own right. The most puzzling, however, was the first sighting, the red mane. It had been like a spot of fire under the dark water, but I knew that wasn't right.

I reached into my pocket, stopping cold. I fished in the other, finding nothing—back pockets, jacket pockets. Where was it?

"What's up?" Dean asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror, noticing my distressed fidgeting.

"The toy soldier," I replied, voice flighty. "It's gone."

"You had it on you in the lake?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Sam reasoned. "Maybe it fell out?"

"No—" I replied. "No, no way."

"We know Petey had a knack for those things," Dean said. His nickname for Peter's ghost brought me back to that desolate boat-ride. To Bill Carlson's death. Shaken, unsure if I'd recover from this, I let out a heavy sigh. "Maybe he snagged it?"

I wasn't in the know as to Pete's toy-soldier affinity, but I truly didn't care to be. Another sinking feeling hit me about the same time as I started thinking about him, about the situation, and about everything. The car ride, silence now broken, became Dean and Sam taking turns of telling me about what had happened while I'd stayed with Bill Carlton. I caught most of it, though a lot of my time was spent contemplating the encounter.

"How fast do you think Victoria could have tracked me?" I found myself asking. The words grounded the reality, the one thing I hadn't been able to process completely until now. With saying her name, I was admitting to myself what I'd thought I'd seen.

"Um…" Sam trailed off. "We don't know, honestly. I told you we've never encountered actual vampires, and there's no lore about your kind."

"You never have?" I asked. "I thought you said you didn't see them often…"

"See as in hear of," he explained. "Vampires—well, the type that we're familiar with, anyway—are extinct. Maybe they've made a comeback in impenetrable sparkly bodies, but we also don't know if these are vampires of the past come back to haunt or something newer and bigger."

"We really just don't know a lot about them," Dean said. "Tidbits that our dad told us. Stuff we heard from other hunters. No first-hand down and dirty experience."

"I think I saw her," I answered with a blank statement, voice small, but mostly strong. "In the water. I'm almost positive it was her."

Sam turned in his seat to face me. The look on his face was carefully blank, but concerned. "You're sure?" I only nodded, growing more certain as each moment passed. That red cloud, upon further retrospection, was not a cloud at all—it had been hair. With Bill's immediate death, I hadn't been able to dwell on it. Now I had, and a cold stone of fear settled in my stomach. She'd found me.

What, then, was stopping her from coming to get me? Was she biding her time? Was she waiting to strike at my weakest? The questions spilled forth from the depths of my mind, gathering and clouding in a noisy whirlwind.

Stopping my thoughts before they spiraled too out of control, I looked up to see we'd arrived at the station. I leaned heavily on Dean, making him bring up the rear as he helped me walk through the door. We were greeted by Andrea, "Sam, Dean, Bella—I didn't expect to see you here." She set something on a chair, walking around to meet us behind the desk.

The sheriff's negativity toward us radiated in his words, "So now you're on a first name basis?" He paused, opening the swinging door for us, allowing me to round the counter and see Lucas. He was rocking, trembling, staring at nothing, and rubbing his hands together uneasily. The urge to go to him hit me like a brick wall, but I restrained myself because of the almost tangible force of the sheriff's eyes on us—that and my inability to walk by myself at the moment. It felt decidedly awkward now, standing there and leaning on Dean, with his arm slung over his shoulder while his supporting hand took a spot just below my ribs. Shaking my thoughts away, I allowed myself a quick glance at Lucas before turning to the conversation before us.

"What're you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner," she answered lightly, looking confused at her father's mood.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he answered quietly, sincerely, "I don't really have the time." She stared at him in response, gave us a long look, and went back to her father. For a moment, all we could hear was Jake's coat rustling and phones ringing in another room. "I heard about Bill Carlton." She eyed us again, clothes only half-wet now, but said nothing. "Is it true? Is something going on at the lake?"

The sheriff glared at us, eyes weary. "Right now we don't know what the truth is." Dean looked down at me, then to Lucas. I followed his gaze, seeing the rocking grow quicker, more panicked. "But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home."

Dean and I both had kept our eyes on Lucas, but suddenly he turned and met our gazes. Letting out a startling noise of fear, he jumped from his seat, wrapping his arms around us. He leaned more toward my side, the crown of his head resting between my breasts, and his sudden weight dragged me down, making me sag to the ground. He hugged me, dragging me forward, and I struggled to keep up, finding it more difficult as he grabbed Dean's pant leg and forced him forward as well, almost causing him to trip on me.

"Lucas—Lucas what's wrong?" we were saying, almost in a mantra. "Lucas, it's okay; what's wrong?" Andrea reached for him, pulling him off of me forcefully. I, however, shot my hand up to lay it on his cheek—that motherly instinct I preferred to repress flowed through my veins, his little cheek warm on my palm.

"Lucas," I said. "It's okay. It's going to be okay—I promise." He stopped struggling, and Andrea took advantage of her son's sudden calmness to steer him around us and wordlessly out the door. Still kneeling on the floor, I reeled in shock at the panic and despair I'd seen in Lucas's eyes. Dean helped me up then, gripping my forearms, his hands so warm they almost burned.

The sheriff, obviously upset by his grandson's outburst, stomped into his office, us on his heels. He sat us in the chairs we'd taken earlier, only Dean scooted one closer to his own for me, allowing us an easier time if he had to help me up for something. Jake, now deadpan, perched on the corner of his desk as we settled down before him.

"So—what's the story?" The boys followed the sheriff's eyes to me. Cheeks engulfed in heat at the attention, I knew I had to tell them what had happened. So I did—from start to finish, leaving out the information on Pete and the haunting. Yet, as I finished, I noticed that the boys were looking at me with faint awe and disapproval, and Jake's expression was far darker.

"Alright—you're telling me you were on the phone when he started the boat, and you hopped in, and he took off? Then something threw you into the water and Bill Carlton—a _very_ good swimmer, by the way—sank to the bottom to drown, while you miraculously made it out."

"That's what she told ya, sheriff," Dean said, catching onto that undertone of something he seemed to dislike as much as I did.

"Now I'm supposed to believe this after sonar sweeping that entire lake…and what you're describing is impossible…_and_ you're not really CDC or Wildlife Service agents. Yeah, I checked—never heard of you. Any of you." My heart gave a violent squeeze as the tense atmosphere grew impossibly thicker. Dean stuttered to come up with an excuse, looking to Sam and I for help. My lips had gone dry as the sheriff maintained eye contact with me, even as he answered Dean, "Enough. Let's set things straight—I have yet to arrest any of you because the neighbor saw Bill steering out that boat before you two showed up. You, however," he narrowed his eyes at me, reaching behind him for something. His hands returned with a pair of handcuffs, and my blood ran like ice. "You're staying here. The neighbor saw you on that boat, and considering that nothing could have attacked you, I really only have one option here."

"Whoa now—" Dean began, leaning forward with his arms outstretched, palms flat in surrender, "let's not get hasty here."

"Back off," Jake said, beckoning me with his free hand. I didn't know what to think, and stared stupidly for a moment. "You were confirmed to be there in the boat with Bill. You lived, he disappeared. That makes you a suspect, little miss." He rattled the cuffs. Leaning forward and holding out my arms, he snapped them onto my wrists. They were cold and heavy as they settled in, clamping down. I laid my hands in my lap gingerly, stomach doing flips. I was unsure how to act now.

Dean and Sam shared a look, surprised and possibly a little angry. "Now," the sheriff continued. "I'd like you two to back off. Go to your motel and lay low as we figure out whether or not miss agent Mayhew here has anything to do with Bill's vanishing. Better yet, how about you skip town and come back if she calls you free." By the end he was growling, shaking, pointing at the boys and glaring down at me as if he knew for a fact that I'd done it. Heart beating at the rate of a hummingbird, I swallowed a dry lump and looked to Sam and Dean.

All three of us remained wordless. But I simply nodded to them—it was for the best that we cooperate. Honestly, we had no choice. I was cuffed and no sweet-talking could make Jake Devins change his mind. "We'll lay low," Sam said softly. "Won't move an inch."

"Great," the sheriff said sarcastically, obviously having hoped they'd abandon me instead. Truly, I hadn't been sure, so I'd never been more relieved to hear that they would stay. "I suggest you get going, then. Pick up some groceries—it's gonna be a long vacation."

The sheriff led them out of his office, beckoning me to follow behind. Realizing I would get no help with my wobbly legs, I forced myself into a semi-balanced stance and followed him to my holding cell. He left me soon after, and when alone, I decided rather than wait for the lights to go out, I would try to sleep while the office was still open. Though the bed was hard, I accomplished my task.

My night was mostly devoid of nightmares, my sleep a solid one. However, I awoke to an angry voice shouting in the next room. Turning my bleary eyes to the door, I found bars in my line of sight. Though my previous night of incarceration was not forgotten, being slapped in the face with it was awful. Avoiding a pity-party, I instead honed in on the yelling. "_Who? Our house? Sleeping? I'm coming over. Give me twenty minutes, tops."_

Sitting in my cell was atrocious. One of the worst forms of torture—able to think about all of the things I didn't want to, as well as the added investigation that was soon to be on my hands. I knew I hadn't been a part of Bill's death, but now that the drownings should have ended—considering Peter had gotten what he'd wanted—and explaining what had happened to the sheriff would only allow me to plead insanity rather than remedy my problem, I was stuck here without a hope of getting out. I could only hope the boys hadn't done something stupid and would soon get away before Jake found reason to put them in here with me.

It was then that I realized what was happening—my mind flashed to kicking, screaming, orange-clad Cassie. She'd told me she'd been screwed out of her ten years, and similarly, I'd had my one singular year taken from me as well. Sure, I would be able to see, but if these bars became a familiar sight then it almost wouldn't be worth it.

Agonizing over these things, I gripped my knees to my chest, hoping the pressure would ward off the hunger. Hours passed and neither sheriff nor officer appeared to speak to me. Investigation or not, wouldn't it do to feed me? Surely the strategy wasn't to let me starve? Itching to move about but not willing to waste energy in such a fashion—it had been so long since I'd eaten anyway that I wasn't sure my body could take it, especially after the shock of the day before—I stayed rooted for my spot hour after hour. The sun, which had barely been out when I'd awoken, was setting when the main door slammed open. Muffled, soft voices were on the other side of the wall.

I could hear rustling and drawers, but couldn't make out the voices beyond that they were male. However, when the door burst open, my stomach dropped. "You guys too?"

Looking tired and unsociable, they dragged themselves, noticeably damp with water, toward me. Dean produced a set of keys, opening first my cell and then my handcuffs. I stared in wonder the whole time, wanting to ask what was happening, but afraid to.

"We'll explain later," Dean said. His voice was much more chipper than his appearance. "But Lucas is better—he said goodbye. Like, _said_ goodbye. And he wants you to have this back." Sam stepped forward with my cactus. Shocked, yet somehow ecstatic at this turn of events, I couldn't stop myself from asking some questions.

"But—how?" And so my questioning was cut short, my stagnant mind unable to think past that syllable.

Sam spared me the confusion, "Jake sacrificed himself for Lucas—so Peter's gone now that he got what he wanted. Lucas feels better and is talking again. He made us sandwiches. He said he'd miss you. Andrea said she couldn't thank you enough for the help."

Not sure if I wanted to cry at the wave of happy relief or at the sadness of sheriff Devins' loss, I simply let myself smile as I took my cactus from his hands. "So what now?"

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes, "Well, you're free and all, but it's high time we tailed it."

"I don't get to say goodbye to Lucas?"

"Sorry, sweetheart—some things are better left unsaid."

Surprisingly unbothered by the turn of events, Dean made his way out of my cell and into the main room, obviously heading for the door. Sam lingered with me, finding myself rooted to the ground, mouth open in astonishment. Dean's head popped back into the room.

"Bella, move your ass. We're wastin' daylight."

I did as asked, following the boys out. Sam and I made eye contact for the barest moments, and though he seemed sympathetic to my confusion, he too was unaffected by the looming deaths of the case, as well as the fact that it was ultimately closed with yet another death.

Riding in the backseat of that old impala, smell of tobacco leather, warmth of sunlight, stiffness of overused muscles, tired eyes, dry mouth, and familiar cactus in my hands—I found myself amazed at the fact that the mystery was solved, but rather than satisfied, I was left emptier than before. One large question loomed in my mind—what had these boys seen in the past that left them so cold to the outcome?


End file.
